VJ^J^S'

•

vcv*^^^

PIpr/..

f^Ct)

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2009 with funding from '
Duke University-Libraries

http://www.archive.org/details/hermanc3funnaseri01naub

HERMAN

OF

U N N A.

VOLUiME I.

AU hMR^H

.^i^d.^

HERMAN OF UNNAr

A

SERIES OF ADVENTURES

aF THE

FIFTEENTH CENTURY,

IN WHICH THE

PROCEEDINGS OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL UNDER
THE EMPERORS WINCESLAUS AND SIGISMGND?
ARE DELINEATED.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

WRITTEN IN GERMAN

BY PROFESSOR KRAMER.

THE SECOND EDITION,

VOLUME I.

L O N D O N :

Printed for G. C. and J. Robinson, Pater-noster How,

M DCC XCIV,

PREFACE.

JL HE author of the following
work is known in Germany, for the
eminent situation he holds in one of
their universities, and for his literary-
productions, particularly his celebrated
piece of Alcibiades.

Tlie present performance is gene-
rally interesting, not only for the
merit of the story, but for the informa-
tion it affords us respecting the secret
tribunal, an institution which, though
it could never be traced to its recesses,
made monarchs tremble upon their
thrones. It was composed of more
than a hundred thousand individuals,
held together by an invisible chain,
A

vi PREFACE.

known to each other, but mdistin-"
guishable to the rest of the world,
whose sittings w^ere covered with the
most impenetrable secrecy ; whose
decrees were arbitrary and despotical,
and were executed by assassins, whose
steel seldom failed to reach the heart
of its unfortunate victim.

In this situation we have a strik-
ing example of the evils in Vv^hich
ignorance and imposition are capable
of involving mankind. The conse-
quences that follow, when men yield
up their understandings to the dictate
of authority, are dreadful and destruc-
tive beyond the power of human
penetration to calculate. This is but
a small part, and, however dreadful
and detestable, is comparatively an
insignificant part, when we contrast
it with auricular confession, the in-
quisition, the star-chamber, the court

PREFACE. vli

of high commission, and the bastile.
Let us remember this, and congratu-
late ourselves that we are born in an
age of illumination, and at a time
when the artifices of superstition and
tyranny are fated to vanish before the
torch of truth.

In addition to this high historical
moral, this romance has another merit
by which it is farther allied to history.
It comprises a curious detail as to the
character and adventures of the em-
peror Winceslaus, the empress Sophia,
Sigismond, king of Hungary, and
queen Barbe, together with the man-
ners of the antient chevaliers, monks
and nuns of those times. These por-
traits are in general of distinguished
fidelity, and introduce us, as it were,
to the personal intercourse of men,
the dates only of whose transactions
are handed down to us in chronicles,
A 2

viii PREFACE.

The translator has prefixed to the
work, an essay on tjie secret tribunal
and its judges, by baron Bock, which
will probably be thought an useful
accompaniment to the majority of
readers.

ESSAY

On the Secret Trihunal and its Judges^
formerly existing in Westphalia.

Extra(5ted from the second volume of the Miscellaneous V*'orks
of Baron BOCK.

THE free counts and free judges of West-
phalia, whose power and constitution
rendered them so famous and redoubtable
about the beginning of the fifteenth century,
that they were on the point of experi-
encing as rigorous a persecution as the
Templars, are at present nearly forgotten,
few traces of them being preserved in his-
tory. The singularity of this institution, of
which so little is known, and which has a
near resemblance to that of the illuminated^
so rapid in its progress within these two or
three vears, in Germany, induces me to
give seme account of it here.

The origin of the free counts and free
judges may be traced back to the reign of
Charlemagne. They pretended to be the
successors of the imperial commissioners,
f missis per temper a discurrentibusj who made
their circuits through the empire once a
year or oftener. To these commissioners
complaints might be preferred against the
governors of provinces,, and other principal
A 3

X ESSAY ON THE

officers ; and before them- might be pleaded
causes of which the decision belonged exclu-
sively to the emperor. It appears too, that
the ordinary magistrates had no power to in-
flict severer punishment than pecuniary fines,
so that these commissioners were the sove-
reign judges of almost all cau'^es, having the
power of condemning in the emperor's name
to corporal pains, either those whose crimes-
v;ere such, that the sentence was not allow-
ed to be commuted for a mulct, or these,
v/ho, refusing to pay what they had been
amerced by the common judge, incurred the
guilt of rebellion.

The nature of tliis commilTion required
two different kinds of proceeding ; one pub-
lic the other private. Sorcery, magic, and
sacrilege, ranked in the class of crimes not to
be committed; and respecting these inquiry
must necessarily be made in secret. Hence
may be inferred, that, if the first sittings of
this tribunal were held in public, there were
others to which every body might not be
admitted.

As it was not practicable for tl^.ese comimis-
sioners to remain long in one place, their
proceedings were usually conducted in a sum-
mary way. In general two persons of known
probity, sometimes more were chosen in each
district : these, being sworn, were charged

SECRET TRIBUNAL.' xi

to examine into the crimes of the accused,
and on their report sentence was definitely-
passed. The names of these Jurors were
carefully concealed, that they might not be
mistrusted, so that people lived in perpetual
disquietude, and a man could repose no
confidence even in his own brother.

If we compare these extraordinary com-
missions, established by Charlemagne, with
tlie secret tribunal, which was posterior, we
shall find between them the most perfect
resemblance.

Tlie sittings of the latter were called free
proceedings (freldlnge) ; tiie place where they
were held, hee tvihuml ffrelejiuhl J ; the com-
missioner a free count ffrelgrafj ; and the ju-
rors, free judges (frksckoeppen). The duke
of Saxony, wlio was the sovereign chief of
the commissioners in the time of Charlemag-
ne, heldtlie same rank in the fiee tribunals;
in v/hich quality he had the right of present-
ing to every seat, and nominating the free
counts, who were afterwards invested v;ith
their offices by the emperor as feodaries.

At this tribunal, as at the old, offences
or all kind v;ere tried ; complaints were re-
ceived against those, who refused to be tried
by their regular judges; and the sittings
were held in the open air, though there
were others in secret, where the principal
A4

xli ESSAY ON THE

business was conducted. From the latter
circumstance is derived the name of the se-
cret tribunal ketmliche amt. The people knew
not the free judges, who were bound by a
terrible oath to deliver up father, mother,
brother, sister, or friend, without exception,
if they had done any thing cognizable by the
tribunal. In such cases they weie cbh'gcd
to relate all they knew concerning the affair,
to cite the culprits, and, if they were con-
demned, to put them to death where\er they
found them. Thus the members of the
tribunal, in quality of imperial commissioners
maintained the authority of the emperor
throughout the whole extent of the empire,
without troubling themselves about the rights
of the territories in which they exercised
their power; and would infallibly have over-
turned every other territorial sovereignty,
had they continued to subsist.

The secret tribunal is mentioned in his-
tory, as an establishment publicly known, so
early as i2i l, soon after the extinction of tlie
grand duchy of Saxony. Before that tim.e
the free counts probably derived tlieir pow-
ers from the dukes of Saxony, by whom
they were undoubtedly nominated cs sove-
reign chiefs of the imjperial commissioners.
It was not, therefore, till after the extinction
of that duchy, that the secret tribunals were

SECRET TRIBUNAL xiii

known publicly. No prince of the empire
would longer suffer in his dominions an im-
perial commission, independent of his con-
trol ; and every one consequently endeavour-
ed to become himself the chief of tha: com-
mission. The archbishop of Cologn, who
had obtained the duchy of Westphalia, was
the only person who opposed this; and so
effectually, that, throughout almost all West--
Dhalia, he was acknowledgned sole chief of
l:he secret tribunals. For a time the free
counts of that country were nominated by
]iim,.and of him received the investiture oL
their offices^

In this state the secret tribunals remained
for some time: but towards the end of the-
fourteenth, and beginning of the fifteenth-
century, they suddenly rose to so formidable
a degree of power, that ail Germany became,
alarmed. I shall not, I believe, exaggerate,
if I say, that at this period there v;ere more
than an hundred thousand free judges in
the empire, who put to death, in all manner
of ways, those whom the tribunal condemn-
ed. When in Bavaria, in Franconia, in
Suabia, any one refused to appear before:
his regular judge, immediately recourse was
had to one of the free tribunals of Westpha-
lia, where sentence was passed, which was
no sooner known to the order of free judges,

A5 '"

xiv ESSAY ON THE

than a hundred thousand assasms were set
in motion, who had sworn not to spare their
nearest relation, or their dearest friend.

If a free judge were known to say to a
person condemned by the secret tribunal,
whom he wished to save, ^' The bread of any
*' other country is as good as the bread of
'' this," a mode of expression used on those
occasions, his comrades were bound by their
oath to hang him up on the first tree, 7 feet
jiigher than any other criminal. To the
sentences passed by this tribunal no demur
was to be made. They must be executed
out of hand, with the utm.ost punctuality,
and the most implicit obedience, though the
person to whose lot it fell had considered
the person condemned as the most virtuous
man in the world. This induced almost all
persons of birth and fortune to seek admis-
sion in! o the order. Every prince had some
free judges in his council; and there were
some even amongst the magillrates of the
Imperial cities*. In those days more gen-
tlemen were free judges than are now free-
masons. In the process which the city
of Osnabrnck had to carry on againfl Conrad

* Werlich relates, in his Chronicles of Augsberg, p. ?..
c. g. that there were thirty-six judges in the city of Augs-
berg alone. From this an eftimate may b-c formed how
many there were in the whole of Germany.

SECRET TRIBUNAL xv

of Langen, when the latter was condemned,
near three hundred free judges were present
at the silting, of whom part was of the or-
der of nobility, part simple burghers*. La
short, many princes also sought admission,
as the duke of Bavaria, the margrave of
Brandenburg, kc.

The servile obedience exacted by the se-
cret tribunal from it's members, appears in
the following speech of duke William of
Brunswic, who was one of the free judges:
'' I must hang duke Adolphus of Sleswic, if
*' he come to see me, or my comrades will
"• hang me'f."

It was extremely i-are for any one to es-
cape from the pursuit of the secret tribunal;
for the free judges, not being known watched
the moment when a prince went abroad from
his palace, a gentleman from his caftle, or a
burgher from the place of his abode, to go by
nitrht and nail to his gate the citation of the
secret tribunal. If he did not appear, after
this ceremony had been three times perform-
ed, he was condemned; though he was usual-
ly cited a fourth time before the execution of
the sentence; after which he was delivered
over to the- vengeance of that invincible army

* Beim KrefF. vons archid. Wefen, in App. p. i6i.
f John von Busche de Reform, Monast. III. 42, p, 94?^^

xvi ESSAY ON THE

of the free judges, which quitted not the
pursuit till he was hunted to death.

When a free judge was not of himself
strong enough to seize a criminal and hang
liim, he wasDOund nottoicse sight of him, till
he found a sufficient number of his comrades
to enable him to execute his purpose, and
these were bound to assist him, without ask-
ing any questions, on his making certain signs.
They hung up the person condemned with
a willow branch, inftead of a rope, to the
firfl: tree in the high road, but never to a
gallows. If they were obliged, by circum-
flances, to kill the criminal with a poniard,
or in some other way, they fastened the
corpse to a tree, and left their knife in it,
that it might be known He had not been assas-
.-inated, but executed by a free judge.

All their operations were enveloped in
the profoundest mystery, and even now it
is unknown by what sign * the sages, as they
called themselves, knew each other: still
less are we acquainted with the greater part
of their regulations, Thou^^h tlie emperor
v;as reputed chief paramount of the order,
what passed in the secret tribunal was for-

* In a writing at Hertfort have been observed the fol-
lowing letters : S. S. G. G. These according to some fio-
nify in German: stoc, stein, gras, grehi, in Englifh, ♦* stocky
jtone, grassj grcan^ S. Pleffiinger, T. IV. p. 490.

SECRET TRIBUNAL.

xvii-

bidden to be revealed to him ; only if he
asked whether such a person had been con-
demned, he might be answered yes, or no.
If, however, he asked the name of a penon
condemned, this he was not to be toid. A
proof of this ixiay be seen in the answers the
free counts gave the emperor Robert in,
1404.^^

The emperor, or the duke his represen-
tative, could make free judges no where but
on the red soil, that is to say, in Westphalia :
moreover it must be in a free tribunal, and
with the a.^sistancc of two or three free
judges, as witnesses. As to the mistical
meaning of the appellation red soil, it has
not yet been explained. Perhaps it was
given to Westphalia, because the field of
the arms of Saxony was gules. The free
judges were so tenacious of their rights,
that, king Winceslaus having intended to
create free judges in Westphalia, of his own
authority, when the emperor Robert asked
how the real free judges v;ere to behave to
them, was answered, that they should bang,
them up on the spot without mercy.

The emperor alone had a right to grant
protection to those wi:o had been condemn-
ed by the secret tribunal. This was one of
the reserves inserted by Charlemagne in his
capitularies.

* App. datt. De Face publica, p. 177,

xviii ESSAY ON THE

The real cause of the decline of tlicsc
tribunais was the territorial sovereignty the
princes graduaily ?cqaired in their states.
In their endeavours to suppress an establish-
ment independent cf their authority, they
were so assiduous, that they finally suc-
ceeded. It has never been entirely abolish-
ed ; however, by the laws of the empire, it
has only been confined to its original pur-
poses, ?,nd to certain districts. The em-
peror still bestows free tribunals as feoffs,
and many are still to be found in the county
of Mark, and in the duchy of Westphalia:
but they have lost their independency, and
exercise their functions only in the name of
the sovereign in whose territories they are
established.

It appears highly probable, that the pro-
digious increase of power acquired by the
secret tribunals at the end of the fourteenth
century, and beginning of the fifteenth, was
owing to the anarchy which then prevailed
in the empire. Neither the chamber of
Wetzlar, nor theaulic council then existed;
and it was impossible for an individual to
obtain justice of a prince, or of any of the
states of the empire : thus the secret tribunal
for some time reme died this defec'l in the
Germanic constitution, and rendered them^
selves equally feared and respected.

HERMAN OF UNNA.

- - -- - - ^

A

Series of Adventures of the Fifteenth
Century, ^c^

CHAPTER L

'' TT was on a Monday,, the morrow of
JL *' All-Saints, that the emperor Win-
** ceslaus conducted to his palace the
*' princess Sophia, daughter of John duke of
*' Bavaria."

Thus begins the manuscript which we
take for our guide. We cite this intro-
duction, in order to observe to the reader,
that our business is to copy, not to invent:
and, having premised this circumstance, we
shall convey him at once, without farther
circumlocution, into the midst of those
scenes of festivity, of which, as the manu-
script informs us, the emperor's marriage
was the occasion..

2 HERMAN

Already, in conformity to the customs
of the age, had three days elapsed in every
kind of pleasure. The fourth, that of cele-
brating the marriage, was at length ushered
in, and it was usual to spend it in greater
sobriety.

To this, it is to be ascribed, that the
spirits of the emperor were joyless and de-
pressed, when he received the hand of his
bride: nor was it till the approach of the
evening, when the ample halis of the, palace
of Prague began to be filled with the dan-
cers, that he applied himself to his bottle,,
thence to acquire the gaiety and dissipation
of thought, of which he had need, in his.
present so critical situation.

Indolence and love of ease had never,,
even in his early years, suffered him to join
in the pleasures of the dance ; and he
resigned. them now to the young men and.
maidens, noble and plebeian, whom the sin-
gularity of his character had induced him,
vv'ithout distinction, to admit to this enter-
tainment. For himself, he retired to a
corner of the hall to plav with the duke of

OF UNNA. 3

Ratibor at draughts ; an amusement, it must
be confessed, more suitable to his dignity
and age than that of dancing.

In another corner of the hall the august
bride was seated, as little participating in
the tumultuous joys of the assembly as her
phlegmatic husband. Her person was
charming, and had all the bloom of ripen-
ing youth. Educated in the solitude of
a convent, she had readily Icll it to assume
the Imperial diadem; and as readily would
have returned, to spend there the rest of her
days, the moment she beheld him by whom
It was to be placed on her head.

The emperor Winceslaus, a prince who,
thcugli in the vigour of his years, (he was
not yet forty) seemed already given up to
indolence and sloth, the usual companions
of old age; his countenance pale and cada-
verous, his eyes dull and lifeless, unless
when the circling glass gave them an appear-
ance of animation ; the emperor Winceslaus,
whose mind was as destitute of noble qua-
lities, as his person of the graces; he, whom,
but for the external symbols of his station,
it would have been impossible to distinguish

4 HERMAN

from the meanest of his subjects — what a
husband for Sophia!

It. is not known whether this unfortu-
nate princess ever felt for another that
attachment, which, at the foot of the ahar^
and against the wish of her heart, she had
vast vowed to Winceslaus. Certain, how-
ever, it is, that in this numerous assembly,
in which she was first in beauty as in rank,
there was not a man, if we except the old
Duke of Ratibor, the intimate friend- of her
Imsband, to whom that husband could be
preferred. Judge from; this circumstance,
how deplorable was the situation of this
young maiden^ whose heart, formed for
tenderness, asked only to love; and who,
as virtuous as innocent, regarded as crimi-
nal every reflection to v;hich she was led, by
comparisons, that continually obtruded
themselves- to the disadvantage of her lord.

Meanwhile, Sophia had been so fortu-
nate as to find, in the duke of Bavaria, what
few daughters meet with in a father; a
friend, the confident of her most secret
thoughts. It was, from affection to him,
she had gi\'en her hand to Winceslaus ;

OF UNNA. 5

which she would willingly have wilh-held,
had she not known that her father had
placed his happiness on seeing her empress.
She saw no alternative, therefore, but to
submit to her destiny, or destroy ail the
hopes of a man to whom she was sincerely
attached, and become the instrument of his
ruin and disgrace.

The duke of Bavaria, too prudent to
abandon his daughter in so distressful a
moment, and unable to prevail upon her
to join in the tumultuous pleasures of her
nuptials, partook of her solitude in this
crowded assembly, listened to her sighs and
her regrets, and, by the counsels of wisdom,
traced out the conduct it would henceforth
become her to pursue.

'-' It is time, my daughter, and more
*' than time," said he to her, '' to banish
'' the gloomy train of ideas that occupies
*•' your mind. These comparisons, to the
*'' disadvantage of your husband, this desire
** of not being elevated to the rank destined
'^ you by fortune, and of returning to your
^* convent, these sighs, these regrets, are^

6 HERMAN

"• all too late. I shall always, indeed, be
*' ready to listen to them ; but, at the same
" time, I will never cease to remind you of
'' the advantages attached to your elevation,
" and to which you seem too much inclined
'' to shut your eyes."

"■ Advantages, ray father!" exclaimed
Sophia. ** What! this crown! the title of
''■ empress!"

''Doubtless, these are trifles," replied
the duke. " But do you regard, as equally
'• insignificant, the power of promoting the
*' happiness of so many nations? The
'' power, perhaps, by your viitues, by that
'* angelic and irresistible sv*'eetness, which
'* enchants even me, of restoring a depraved
*' prince to virtue, whom no other means
'' have been able to. reclaim r"

Ah ! thought Sophia, her eyes overflow-
ing with tears, this would be attempting to
transmute lead into gold.

'• Do you regard, as equally insignifi-
*' cant, the having paid obedience to your
"^^ father's will, and rendered him happy by
^* the sacrifice of your inclinations to his?"

Sophia pressed the hand of the duke to
her lips, and assured him, that this motive

OF UXNA. 7

was her only consolation, when she reflected
on the crowd of sorrows that were about to
be her portion as the wife of Winceslaus.

'' Tell me not," said the duke, ''tell
'' me not, my child, of sorrow. Is it pos-
*' sible she should be unhappy, w^ho — "

Reader, Itt me stop. Thou wilt easily
divine what were the arguments which this
prudent father employed Vv'ith his daughter.
History informs us, that the venerable duke
was one of the most eloquent princes of his
time ; and that nothing could resist the
force of truth wh^n it proceeded from his
lips. Nor were his endeavours ineffectual.

Sophia became calm for the moment :
and her conduct, during a long and afflict-
ing marriage with a man, who could inspire
her with no sentiment but aversion ; her
fidelity, patience, and the attentive cares
she bestowed on her husband, under the
misfortunes in which he was frequently
plunged by his misconduct, were certainly
the fruit of the lessons she received, on this
occasson, from her father, and which were
interrupted by an event, that v/e shall
reserve for the following chapter.

HERMAN

CHAPTER IL

THE night being far advanced, th^
dancers ceased their sport. Part of the
guests seated themselves to take refresh-
ment, and rest their wearied limbs; others,
tired of the scene, and intoxicated with
wine, sunk in the arms of sleep. Among
the latter, was the august spouse of Sophia.
After a dispute with his antagonist at
draughts, which, according to custom, he
had decided in favour of himneif, a va-t
goblet, which he twice emptied to celebrate
his victory, laid him sensekfs in his chair.

Sophia and her father were too deeply-
engaged in conversation, to think whether
he weie asleep or awake ; and, probably,
nothing but the ^cene which on a sudden
broke on them, could have distracted their
attention.

Silence had reigned undisturbed in the
hall for the space of half an hour, when it
was interrupted by the sound of harmonious
instruments, approaching at a distance, and

OF UXNA. 9

-saluting tiie ear with tones far more grate-
ful than the harsh and discordant ones
which had animated the dancer^. '' What,"
cried Sophia, looking at her father, '* do I
'^ hear?" The muic continued to ap-
proach. '' Celestial harmony!" added she,
clasping her hands together; 'Vas sweet,
'' as affecting as that of the nuns in the
'' choir of my convent! happy, happy days,
" that I spent in that peaceful retreat !"

Who does not know the power of har-
mony, even over hearts awake to no tender
sentiment? What then must have been its
effect on that of Sophia ! Her eyes were
filled with tears, and the spectacle that in a
few moments presented itself, completed
her emotion. The gates opened : a troop
of young damsels appeared, and advanced
with slow and measured steps to the place
where Sophia was seated. They sung to
the accompaniment of harps and flutes.
Their song, had it been handed down to us
entire, would, no doubt, have been far from
exciting the applause of modern con-
noisseujs, for both the v/ords and the music

10 HERMAN.

were adapted to the unpolished taste of the
age : yet such was their effect on the
empress, that her inmost soul was moved ;
and it was, probably, the first occurrence
of the day that had awakened in her the
least sensation of pleasure.

" O thou !" sung the damsels, forming
an ample circle round the empress, "■ who
'■' hast this day exchanged thy virgin zone
" for an imperial diadem, may happiness
'•'■ be the result of the exchange ! Thou hast
*' relinquished the title of maiden, to assume
"■ the more grateful appellation of mother
'' of thy people. Accept it, then, with
''satisfaction; accept it with joy. Inspire
'' our master with paternal feelings, and we
'' will ever regard thee as the source of our
*' happine^s. Behold these flowers, to
'' which the spring gives birth, and which
*' we lay at thy feet amidst the frosts of
'' winter. Our hearts, and these orna-
*' ments, so dear to us, are the only pre-
" sents v/e have to offer." — Thus saying,
the floor round Sophia was strewed with all
the native perfumes of spring, and the

OF UNXA. 11

damsels kneeled at the feet of their sove-
reign. While they eagerly endeavoured
to kiss the hem of her robe, she who led the
band, advanced with a timid air towards
the princess, and kneeling, presented her a
coronet of flowers "in a vaf;e of gold. "

The empress, in the excess of her emo-
tion, was unable to express her feelings;
she held out her hands to the damsels that
kneeled round her, and, regardless of her
rank, stooped to embrace them.

'' Charming angelic creatures!" cried
she, at length. "■ Dearest children, with
" what emotions you fill my heart! yes, I
"- will be your mother: through my instru-
*' mentality your lord and mine shall be-
*•' come your father. But what are the
*^* words of your song? O repeat them to
*' me again!"

They were preparing to execute her
commands, when she made a motion with
her hand- and said, '' I would not hear
*' them sung; your music is enchanting,
*' but I wish only to have the words."

Vol. I. B

12 HERMAN

The leader of the troop obeyed, and re-
peated what her companions had sung, with
a grace and expression that gave new charms
to what she delivered.

Sophia wept, and tenderly pressing the
hand of the young maiden: '' Yes," ex-
claimed she, looking at her father, *' yes.,
*' I swear to you, and to tliese innocent
'' young women, that I will be a mother to
" them. All the affections of my heart
" shall be engrossed by my people. Pa-
*' tiently will I endure ."

A dance from the Duke reminded her

o

that she was in the midst of a numerous as-
sembly, and not alone with him. — She slopt.
After a moment's silence^ '^ What is your
•' name?" said she, in the gentlest and most
endearing tone, to the young damsel who
had recited the words of the song. '' Ida,"
replied the young woman, casting down
her eyes. — '^ Ida!" resumed Sophia. '* '^iv
"• once knew a princess of that name: is it^

*^ possible you can be ?"

*' My name is Ida Munster," said
the young womaii, blushing instantly

GF UNNA. 13

like scarlet. *' I am the daughter of a
statuary."

"- The daughter of a V/hat! so

*' handsome, of so noble a deportment, so
** — what shall I say? and the daughter
•■' only of a statuary!"

*' My father is a very honest man, and
' a loyal subject of the emperor."

'' Wonderful girl! matchi^ssof thy kind!"

'' O no!" cried Ida, retiring a few steps,
and pointnig to her companions. " How
*^ many among these are my equals! how
'* many superior to me!"

We beg to inform the reader, that Ida
was mistaken in this particular. Her com-
panions were good sort of girls, and th^ir
persons far from disagreeable: but not one
of them could at all compare with her. — In
them every thing betrayed a want of educa-
tion; every thing evinced that it was to the
solemnity of tiie dayalone they were indebt-
ed for an appearance above their station ;
while Ida, in spite of the elegance of her
dress, seemed as much at her ea:e as the la-
dies of the court by whom she was sur-
B2

14 HERMAN

rouiided» and who sought by their whispers
to abash her.

Sophia took in good part the indirect les-
son Ida had given her. '' You are all my
'' children, you are all. equally dear to me:"
cried she, stretching out h^r hands to the
young women, who had remained on their
knees. ^' Rise, and. let me give you some
'' token of the satisfaction I have received.
*^ Here, pretty blue eyes; and you, my lit-
'' tl« sparkler, take these remembrances;
*' and let them sometimes remind you of
*' your empress, your mother." — Instantly
sh€ began to disencumber herself of her
magnificent bracelets and diamond bows,
and distribute them amongst the young wo-
men, who timidly withdrew thejj: liands, on
•her offering them such valuable presents.
'■' Take them, take them," said Sophia; who
conceived that all the trappings she wore
were her own, and was yet to learn, that
an empress had less command over her jew-
els than the lowest person of her court;
'' take them, my dearchildren, and bear me
'^ in vour remembrance."

OF UNNA. 15

Sophia was in an ecstacy, a delirium of
joy : bat it was a delirium from which she
was quickly awakened by the princess of
Ratibor, governess of the household, who
whispered something in her ear. '' Am I
'' empress," replied Sophia, "' and not at
*' liberty to dispose as I please of my orna-
^' mentsr" Ihen recollecting herself:
'' This at least," added she, '' is my own,"
loosing a chain of gold from her neck. —
*' Take it, my dear Ida, it was a present
" from my godmother, the countess of
'' Wirtemberg, and is no jewel of the
^^ crown." — Ida made a low reverence, and
casting her eye modestly on herself said,
*' I am already more splendidly adorned
-' than becomes my station; yet, were it
*• not too bold in me, while I decline this
"" gift of my sovereign, I would request of
•' her another more agreeable to my wishes."
'' Ask what you will: there is"nothingI
'' can refuse you."

'' O! one of those beautiful ringlets
** that flow down that bosom : what a pre-
'* sent would it be to me! I should deem

B3

16 HERMAN

''• it the proudest ornament and most distln-
^' guished mark of honor; it should be — "
— " Enthusiast!" cried Sophia, and at the
same time she cut off a lock of her hair with
such eagerness, that the point of the scissars
scratched her neck, and tinged her handker-
chief with blood.

Ida had sufficient presence of mind to
be one of the first to stop the bleeding with
her veil. The hall instantly resounded with
the cry of '' the empress is wounded!"
though neither the pain nor the wound was
greater than the prick of a pin might have
occasioned. The guests approached in
<:rowds to witness Xhe disaster, and the up^
roar that prevailed about Sophia, terrified
her more than the trifle that had given rise
to it. The trembling Ida and her compa-
nions were dismissed by the princess of Ra-
tibor with the severity of a rigid governess:
and the company broke up. .'y

3d? rrr

OF UNNA. 17

CHAPTER III.

ON the arrival of the young damsels, all
the company had gathered together, and
even Winceslaus was roused from his stupor
of intoxication. Tiie last incident redoubled
their murmurs. Dissatisfaction was marked
on the countenance of the emperor; the
duke of Bavaria appeared embarrassed; and
it is said, thai the bride, before she retired,
had received a severe reprimand from the
the princess of Ratibor. The old lady could
not forgive Sophia, for excluding her froni
the conversation she had had v/ith her father,
A signal from the young empress had forced
her to withdraw, after in vain observing,
that explicit orders were given her not to
quit her majesty for a moment. The spite
she had conceived against the princess, in
consequence of this exclusion, manifested
itself in the remonstrances she made her,

B4

18 HERiMAN^

respecting the conduct it became her to pur-
sue in her new situation, and her recent
behaviour to the young women. The ex-
treme pleasure Sophia had felt from a cir-
cumstance of so trivial importance as the
coronet of flowers, familiarity with persons
of no condition, her conversation with
Ida, her presents, and particularly the ad-
venture of the lock of hair, were all can-
vassed and represented in colours so unfa-
vourable, that Sophia herself was confound-
ed, and carried her condescenlion so far as
fo acknowledge, that she had gone too great
lengths, that she did not yet know what de-
corum permitted an empress to do, and that
she had too much of the simplicity usually
acquired in a convent, of v^rhich she would
endeavour to correct herself.

Sophia was conducted to her chamber,
and there compelled a second time to hear,
from the mouth of her hufband, the lecture
she had already received from the governess
of the household. The reproaches of
Winceslaus were chiefly respecting the jew-
els of the cro'vvn, which the empress l]ad

OF UNiMA, ' 19

been so liberally distributing, but which were
preserved by the interference of the prin-
cess of Ratibor. ** I believe," said he to
her, as he examined the jewels inclosed in
their cafket, '' that you would have given
" away even your wedding ring." — ''- O
no," replied Sophia, "' I am not ignorant
" how; necessary it is I should keep that to-
'' remind me of my duty." — Winceslaus
was too stupid to perceive the point of this
reply; but the bride was alarmed at what
she had said. She was afraid of being asked
whether she had need of such a monitor;
and she hastened therefore to give another
turn to the conversation. ■ She possessed
one of those gentle and benevolent hearts,
which, if ever they inflict an involuntary •
wound, are eager to apply to it the healing
balm ; and soften, by obliging expressions,
the ppignancy of a thoughtless repartee. —
*■• Have not I too received a present?" said
she, showing Ida's coronet of flowers, which
was placed on a table in its vase. '' But
'' no : this precious gift is not for me ; I lay
'' it at the feet of my emperor."

B5

20 HERMANN

Winceslaus must have bee^i eyeji} afi^ore

contemptible being than he was, had he not
been moved by the affecting air with which
the charming Sophia offered him, her
coronet. He clasped her in his arms, called
her a good girl, which was one ,of his tenr
dcrest expressions, and then let her go, ,in
order to set down the gift, which, in his
eyes, was of no value. But perceiving the
golden vase, in which Ida had presented
the coronet of flowers, and to which Sophia
had paid little attention, he exclaimed with
astonishment, ''What is this?" — " It is the
*' vase in which the flowers were presented
** to me", said she. — \'' And this silk hand-
''* kerchief?" — -Sophia imagined, that it had
been employed as a screen to the flowers,
that the moisture of the air might not
diminish their bloom. — Winceslaus shook
his head, as he removed the handkerchief,
fancying he understood this method of
making presents. — '* Ah," resumed he,
contemplating the vase with complacency,
the weight of which assured him that it was^
equal to a good number of crowns: [' Ah,

OF UNNA. 21

** I thought no one would have presumed

*' to offer an empress so paltry a present as
*' a coronet of flowers. Let us calculate
** the value of this vase r"

While Winceslaus v;as making his cal-
culation, Sophia withdrew to a window to
hide her tears. She felt a sensation which
^le could not define. Her heart was so
oppressed, that she was ready to faint.
She opened the casement for air. '' O
*' heaven!" said she in a low voice, and
witli a sigh, '' grant me strength always to
'' acquit myself with propriety of the long
"■ and painful task I have to perform.
'^ Such sentiments in an emperor! and that
"" emperor my husband ! What a being !"

'^ The vase," cried Winceslaus at last,
" is worth precisely three hundred crowns.
'' What is the name of the young woman
'' who brought it you.?"

'' Ida Munster," answered Sophia » with
a voice that almost betrayed the tears, she
had been shedding.

'' Ida Munster! very well. But come,
'* my dear, why do you remain so long
'' exposed to the cold air? What! you have

22 HERMAN

*' been crying! Is any thing the matter
'^ with you?"

"Alas; what can be more distressing,"
replied Sophia, clasping her hands, "than
'' tx) receive presents from one's subjects,
"• and not have tiie power of requiting
'Vthem? The trifles I distributed to those
'-'- kind-hearted girls were taken from them,
" while 1 am obliged to keep what they
" have given me."

^' You are mistaken ; the present you
''■would have made them was incompar-
'^ ably greater than that which 'you re-
*• ceived."

'' And is it not thus sovereigns should
'' recompence their subjects?"

*' But the people are intended to sliare
'* with their emperor what they gain under
*^ his protection."

•*' Oh! take without scruple what your
*'^ princes, your nobles may give you : but
'' these tradesmen, these artists, these
*' mechanics, who "

"■ I tell you again, you are mistaken.
*' Among this class of my subjects there are

OF UNNA. 23

V3;m.a.ny wlio are sble to pay, and they do
*' so. The noDiiity are poor in comparison
** with them : labour and industry procure
''treasures to these, which the great can
*' only acquire by plunder and tlie spoils^
'' of aa enemy."

Winceslaus was in the right : the cir-
cumstances of the different ranks of society
were nearly as he had depicted them.
But Sophia was not to be conciliated by
this logic, and she continued to weep;
perhaps from regret at not being able to
make compensation for the present she had
received, and partly, perhaps, from a pro-
spect of the melancholy pilgrimage that lay
before her.

I'he emperor called his valet to undress-
him; and Sophia's v/omen entered to put
their mistress to bed.

24 HERMAN

CHAPTER IV.

SOPHIA was' not rendered so happy
by her new situatidn -as to forget, like m^ny
young married ladies, every preceding
attachment and pleasure. The scene of
the young damsels presenting their flowers,
the only one she had found interesting:
during the celebration of her nuptials, had
never quitted her mind. It was the iast
object of her thoughts as she resigned her-
self to sleep, and the first image that pre-
sented itself when she aw^oke in the morn-
ing. She sent for Ida, but Ida Vv'as indis-
posed. She sent a second time, ordering,
the messenger, if Ida were unable to come
to court, at least to enquire the names of
her com.panions. These, not being indis-
posed, repaired immediately to the einpress.

The generous wife of ^Winceslaus could
not support the idea of receiving a present
from persons of that class of her subjects,
v/hich is supported by industry, without
leaking them a return. She accompanied,

B4

OF UNNA. 25

therefore, her obliging thanks to the young
women, with presents that could not be
taken from them, as they constituted no
part^af the- jewels of the crown, but had
beeatlie property of Sophia while she was
yet unmarried.

The princess of Ratibor deemed: botli
the presents and the thanks superfluous ;
and conceived that the empress compro-
mised her. dignity by the conversation she
held with such plebeian simpletons. The
term simpletons^ which she employed on
this occasion, was not altogether improper.
In the whole company there was not a
single Ida. They knew nothing beyond
singing their song, and answering Sophia
with awkward timidity. The empress
questioned them concerning Ida, being at a
loss to comprehend hov7 this young woman
had been able so far to surpass her com-
panions, who were of the same class as her-
self, and mufl consequently have received
the same education. Through the answers
they gave, she sometimes perceived traces
of secret envy, sometimes of contempt for

26 HERMAN ;

merit which it was impossible for th^m to
attain. Sophia discovered, however,- ifrom
their account, that Ida was an only child ;
that her parents were rich and loved her
tenderly; that she was too handsome, too
attractive, to be loved by her companions;
and -that her inclination for solitude, owing
to a consciousness of her superiority, or,
as they term.ed it, her pride, seldom per-
mitred her to mix in the circle, in which
she had performed, the day before, so bril-
liant a part.

The many commendations bestou^ed on
these young women by the empress, would,
have been more than sufficient to procure
them the admiration of the v^^hole court,
had not Ida so far outshone them, that her
iiam.e v/as repeated from every mouth, and-
her idea alone occupied the attention of^.
every mind. The young courtiers had
TiOt forgotten the inexpressible grace with
which she had presented herself. They
enquired into the minutest circumstances
respecting her ; besieged her father's house;
askect where she was to be seen ; were

OF UNNA. 27

astomshed at not meeting her any where,'
and pitied her for not being bcrn to a more
elevated rank. Among them, however,
was one, tlie young Herman of Unna, a
gentleman of Westphalia, whose conduct
was the reverse of ail this. lie never pro-
nounced her name, asked no questions
concerning her, and neither pitied nor
admired her in public : but, filled with her
idea, he thought of her incessantly in pri-
vate, and liad discovered the church to
which she regularly repaired to hear mass,
before his conn-ades had gone through half
their researches.

Herman was only eighteen years of age.
Admitted early to the court of Wincesiaus,
which v/as far from being the best possible
school, his principles upon the chapter of
love, his virtue and his morals, could not be
supposed very strict; and of course he re-
garded hisinclination for a girl, whom, from
disparity of rank, he could never think of
marrying, as a matter of trivial importance,
A favourite and confident of the emperor,.
in whose service he had been, almost from

^

28 HERMAir

infancy, in quality of page, he had fre--
quently been hisagent in a variety of in-
trigues; which proved Winceslaus to have
had little delicacy in affairs of love, and that
he could make hiriiself happy without scru-
tin^iEing. matters too nicely. Thus circum-
Btanced, whence was Herman to have imbi-
bed sentiments suitable to his birth and the
virtue of Ida? It must be acknowledged,
however, inhis favour, that he had formed
no criminal designs: he suffered himself to
be led on by his passion, without once
looking forward to its consequences.

Notwithstanding every attempt of our
young courtier, he could not gain access to
the house of old Munster. His door was
open to those only who had business with,
him ; and he had too much penetration to
be the dupe .cf artifice. Herman was
cbliged,: therefore, to content himself with
the ;pleaEuT'©;dfj teeing the object of his
attachment at the church to which she
wenrt daily to offer up her orisons; but her
devotion was too sincere, her attention too
profound, for a single glance to stray

OP UNNA. 29

towards her admirer. Besides, she seldom
appeared at church without a large thick
veil, not put on to attract the eyes of
gazers, rather than screen the countenance
from observation ; for it was as coarse and
unadorned as the veil of a common me-
chanic's daughter.

It was only on Sundays, when her
father went to church in his best suit of
clothes and with a sword by his side, that
she appeared with her face unveiled, walk-
ing by her mother. A new light then
seemed to Herman diffused through the
aisle, though it was a light that shone not
for him. What w^culd he not have given
for one of those looks, so tender and so
devout, that were directed sometimes to St,
Ursula, and sometimes to the Virgin I

The name of Ida, which had been so
often repeated at court the weekiifter All-
Hallows, was soon so completely forgotten,
that scarcely was it remembered at Christ--
mas. Sophia herself had ceased to recall
her image. The attachment she had felt
for her, was, doubtless, too vivid to be last-

30 HER MA In"

ing. Ida, besides, had taken no steps 16
keep it alive. After the first marks of
esteem slie had received from the empress,
she no more appeared at court to solicit
nevv ones; and, probably, had she not been
guilty of that omission, those testimonies of
affection would insensibly- have diminished^
Sophia was a woman and a princess. Kcr
partiality for Ida was, at- bottom, nothing
more than the sentiment felt by a young
person, yet nevv to the Vvorld, towards those
who relieve her from the languor of a
Wearisome- circle, and excite sensations of
pleasure in her breast, v/here only chagrin
existed before.

Independently of all this, new subjects
of reflection daily presented themselves to
the mind of Sop>hia, and entirely occupied
her thoughts. Everyday discovered to her
some new imperfection of her husband,
gave her fresh light respecting lier unfor-
tunate situation, or brought her acquainted
with persons who rendered that situation
still more painful. Shortly after her mar- ~
riage, a lady appeared at court, and wzs

OF UXNA. ai

presented to her under the name of madam
von Baden. To Sophia her manners
appeared so vulgar, that sh.e would have
paid no farther attention to her, had she
not found her at supper seated by the side
of the emperor, and remarked, from their
famiharity, that they had long been ac-
quainted.

Sophia had been brought up in a con-
vent, in total ignorance ofthe occurrences
of the times. The adventures of Winceslans
with th€ fair maid of Baden, were known
to every body but her. Become empress,
no one was so officious as to acquaint her
with the frailties of her husband ; and had
it been otherwise, she would probably have
had the goodness to place to the account of
the past, his still subsisting attachment to
Susanna.

Besides, to see madam von Baden was
suflicient. Her air v/as indolent and heavy;
her look bold and immodest; her cheeks
crimson; and her bloated face could boast
no other charm than a tolerable fine set of
teeth. That such a v/cman should capti-

3^2 HERMAN

vate an emperor, and that emperor the
spouse of Sophia, appeared an utter impos-
sibility.

Winceslaus himself took the trouble,
during supper, to recite his adventures with
Susanna, -omitting, however, some few par-
ticulars; and Sophia saw, in his attentions
to that lady, nothing more than ill-timed,
or excessive proofs of gratitude, which slie
did not fail to interpret with her usual
indulgence. The commendations which
the emperor bestowed on madam voii>
Baden, induced even Sophia to shew her'
some esteem. Soon, however, she was made
acquainted with the foolish amours of
Winceslaus-; and she was then first con-
vinced, that to all her other troubles must
be added that of having a rival, and a rival
too so unworthy of her. She frequently
wept in secret; and the princess of Ratibor
once surprising her in tears, seized that
opportunity of gaining her confidence,
which she had before attempted in vain.

Sophia thought she could not deposit
her griefs in the bosom of a person attached

OF UNNA. 33

to her more sincerely. The sole confident
of her most secret thoughts, her father, (to
whom her husband had hinted, in a man-
ner fax from equivocal^ a desire of h.is
absence,) had quitted Prague a few days
after the marriage; and his unhappy
..daughter was thus left, without resource,
to the guidance of her own discretion.
For the first time in her life Sophia em-
braced the governess of the household; and
though this lady seem.ed to employ herself
only in giving her disagreeable information
respecting the cause of her chagrin, yet she
found a sort of consolation in speaking of
her misfortune:, and giving free vent to her
complaints, and to the contempt she felt
for so unworthy a husband.

From this moment the princess of Rati-
bor began to assume despotic authority over
the empress. She exalted or depres.sed
whom she pleased; prescribed to Sophia
what objects to love and what to hate ; and,
as Ida was forgrtten at court, it would not
have been allowable to revive the remem-
brance of her, had even the empress
desired it.

HERMAN

CHAPTER V.

HERMAN, meanwhile, never ceased to
think of his beloved Ida. The difficulty-
he found in speaking to her, or obtaining
^ single look, inriamed him the more, and
exalted her in his eyes. Her obscure birth,
which at first had been a matter of so total
indifference, now began to disquiet him.
He wished eitlier to raise her to his own
rank, or reduce himself to a level with
her's. To effect this, a thousand romantic
expedients occurred to his mmd : for
though romances did not then exist, the
heads of young persons v/ere not less fertile
in imagining extraordniary adventures,
which am.used them as much as books of
this stamp amuse our contemDoraries,

To elevate Ida to an equality with him-
self, to address her with honourable designs,
and to make her his wife, appeared to
Herman impossible. The consent of the
emperor to an unequal match might, pro-
bably, be obtained ; for on that head, as

OF UNNA. 35

as on many others, he was extremely indul-
gent ; but Herman had relations who were not
so indifferent. He was poor, and the place of
chamberlain, which he had filled w^ith dis-
tinction for six months, was far from lucra-
tive. It is true, the parents of Ida were
rich; nevertheless^ all things considered,
Herman began to be of opinion, that lie
should find the second road to happiness
the most easy. He resolved, therefore,
to reduce himself to a level with her; and
to sacrifice to his love, rank, family, and
'd\l his future hopes of prefer m.ent.

It is not known v/hat steps he took to
obtain this end. He probably attempted
to-gLiin admission into old Munster's house
as an- apprentice : but whether the crafty sta-
tuary recollected the figure he had so often
seen in different disguises, or whether he
had other reasons to be on his guard, it
appears that Herman failed in his scheme;
for our manuscript represents him, shortly
after the period in which he must have
made those attempts, in as hopeless a situa-
tion as at the commencement of his amour.

Vol. I. C

36 HERMAN

We have observed, that Herman was
the favourite and confident of Winceslaus.
Pale and dejected, he was more officious
than ever in attending his master; and all
his looks seemed to express the desire he
felt of being asked the cause of his despon-
dency, and receiving proffers of assistance.

But Winceslaus said not a word. He

*

resembled not those princes who are always
ready to gratify the wishes of their favorites ,*
on the contrary, he possessed one of those
cold and insensible minds, which receive
from those around them but slight and
fugitive impressions. One might have
been tortured before his eyes without his
betraying any emotion; have died without
his perceiving it; and returned to life
again without his expressing any astonish-
ment.

This frigid indifference to the love-sick
torments of a chamberlain of eighteen, will,
probably, be thought of little importance,
though to him, whom it concerned, it doubt-
less appeared otherwise. — But to go on with
our story,

OF UNNA. . 37

Herman was of the number of those
fortunate mortaJs, who frequently owe to
some unexpected event, the accomplish-
ment of their dearest wishes. To the lan-
guishing looks of our hero, the emperor
paid no attention, and understood nothing
of their meaning. Meanwhile, regardless
and ignorant as he was of them, he resolved
to employ his young confident in a business
as auspicious to his views as Herman him-
self could have desired.

'' Herman," said he to him one day,
•• what am I to think of thee? Art thou
" blind^ or dost thou wish not to see the
''• chagrin of thy master ? Why dost thou
" not ask what disturbs my repose?"

Herman bowed, without answering;
for what indeed could he have said ? How
was it possible to discover, in features like
those of Winceslaus, traces of sorrow, or of
any other sentiment? How conjecture
inward trouble from the countenance cf a
person whose manners were at best neither
mild nor engaging? The reproach of the
emperor was supremely unjust, and silence
C 2

38 HERMAN

was the only answer that could be given
it.

'' Yes, Herman," continued Whices-
Jaus, " I am in the greatest embarrassment;
*^ and as you have extricated m.e from dif-
'' ficulties on so many former occasions,
*' I am disposed to think you may serve me
'' on this."

Again Herman bowed, and felt a secret
satisfaction from the words of the emperor,
as they recalled to his memory -certain
adventures in which he had been the prin-
cipal actor, and even kindled in his heart a
vague kind of hope of speedily attaining
his purpose.

'' I am in the greatest want of money,"
resumed the emperor. " The dower of
^' my wife has been all swallowed up by the
'' expences of the nuptials. You know I
" was not sparing. Forty thou-sand ^orins
"were a good round sum, and required
" me to be generous. Well, they are gone;
*' and with them have I obtained an insup-
'' portable censor of my conduct. This is
^' what Thave left; \vhile that alone which

OF UNiVA. 39^

*' rendered her person desirable is vanished
*' for ever."

The heart of Herman revolted at this
language. He had long indeed witnessed
the imprudent prodigality of his master,
as well as his blindness to the knavery of
those by whom he was surrounded : but
forty thousand florins, the whole dower of
a princess considered as rich, and which
were equal to the portion which the king of
England had lately given with his daughter,
to the great satisfaction of his son-in-law —
the dissipation of such a sum confounded
ail the ideas of Herman ; and had not the
emperor named madam von Baden, to
whom he ascribed a part of this extraordi-
nary expence, it vv^ould not have been pos-
sible for our young chamberlain to have
unriddled the mystery^

Herman was not unacquainted with the
character of Susanna. He had heard of
her rage at the marriage of Winceslaus; he
knew that she had been daring enough to
threaten her paramour v/ith discovering
certain circumstances to Sophia and her

C3

40 HERMAN

father, that would infallibly have broken
off the match ; and it required, therefore,
little penetration to guess, tliat her silence
had been purchased by large sums of moiiey,
which tlie emperor ingeniously carried to
the account of the necessary expences of
the nuptials.

** What is to be done?" continued
Winceslaus. '* Do not suppose I am poor,
'^ because my cofiers are empty. In those
^' of my subjects there is money enough,
" and the only question is, to devise how
*' to convey it into mine. Old Munster,
*' for example, vv^hoon the day of my wed*
^^ ding, made so handsome a present to my
*' wife, is certainly rich. I am told that
*^ he can give his daughter a portion equal
*' to the sum I received with the princess
'^ of Bavaria. You see, from this, that be
^'' is able, and of course it is his duty to
** assist me. Go to-him'rn my name, ■ atid
" ask him to lend me a thousand crowns.
^^ A prince is never without resources for
*' discharging his debts; and I empower
" you to grant him permission on -tlie spot,

OF UNNA. 41

*• to wear on Sundays, like the nobility, a
** gold chain round his neck ; a permission
*' which many other artists have long solicit-
** ed in vain."

Herman was thunderstruck. Joy at
having at last found a pretext to enter the
dwelling of Ida, to speak to her father on
behalf of the emperor, to offer hun a mark
of honour that would so greatly distinguish
him from others of his station, absorbed all
his thoughts; and itwas-not till he arrived
at Munster's door, that he began to be
uneasy- respecting the manner 'in which his
proposals might be received, and to reflect
on the inconveniences attdfched to this mark
of the emperor's confidence. He feared
that this embassy, if successful, would be
often repeated ; and that it might not
merely diminish the wealth of a famJly
become so dear to him, but in time reduce
Ida and her father to poverty and wretch-
edness.

C4

42 HERMAX

CHAPTER VI.

WHILE leflections of this nature were
rapidly passing in. the mind of oiir youth,
he had ah-eady knocked twice afMunster's
door. It was opened by an old domestic.
The figure of Herman vv^as of the class of
tlio^e to which the father of Ida had for-
bidden access to his house. Young, hand-
soncfeVand elegantly dressed, his appearance
w^s by ''to ''means calculated to obtain a
favourable reception from, a man, who, m
his master's absence, considered himself as
the guardian of his" honour. Besides, this
trusty domestic imagined that he had
already seen his face, and shewn him the
door on some former occasion; which was
far from being unlikely, considering the
various attempts Herman had made to
introduce himself.

The door, therefore, was shut in his
face, without ceremony; and before our
hero had time to mention whom he wanted,
a surly voice exclaimed, that his master

OF UNNA. 43

was gone out. — " But his wife," said the
young courtier, in a gentle and soothing
accent, ''is she at home?" — The answer
would probably have been the same, had
not the question reached Ida's mother,
whom chance had luckily brought within
hearing.

Herman heard through the door a slight
altercation between the wife and the
servant. He knocked again: when she
obliged the merciless porter to withdraw,
and she herself opened the door. The
appearance of our hero drew from her a
profound courtesey. *' May I- beg the
favour of your name, sir knight !" said
she, with an air of embarrassment, and
bluslung.

''My name is of little consequence,'*
answered Herman, with impatience ; '' but
" the embassy with which I am charged,
'' gives me a title to admission every
" where : I come on the part of the em-
" peror." — " Of the emperor!" cried she:
'* I hope not to bring us ill news ; for,
*' thank God, I know not that we have any

44 HERMAN^

'^-thing of which to accuse ourselves: and
*' as to what money can purchase — ■ — But
*^ have the goodness to walk in ; I will just
"see where my daughter is, and wait upon
»' you in a moment." ,u vahiu^

Herman was conducted into a parlour,
where the first object that met his eyes was
a beautiful young woman whom he instantly
would have taken for Ida, had she not
appeared a thousand times more charming:
he was soon, however, convinced that it
was Ida herself. --'■' --— -^'^c

Our young lover had never seen the
object of his passion but v/ith the thick veil
she wore at church, or in a very unbecom-
ing dr€ss, which was then in fashion. The
high stiff collar, the enormous folds of the
gown, and the antient gothic head-dress,
left, indeed, this beautiful young woman
charms enough easily to be distinguished
from her companions, disguised in the
same manner; but how different did ^he
appear in her undress, with no other orna-
ment than a slight veil fastened to her lovely
tresses !

OF UNNA. 45

Herman stood motionless as a statue ;
and Ida, occupied at her spinning wheel,
scarcely raised her eyes. In those days, it
was customary for young women to put
some restraint upon their looks, and to re-
press the eager stare of curiosity.

At his entrance, the mother had request-
ed our hero to sit down, and expressed a
hope that he would not be tired of waiting.
But, so near his Ida, it was impossible for
him to feel any sensation of v/eariness. —
Intoxicated with the pleasure of beholding
her, he thought not of changing his posture,
and he stood, nailed as it were to the floor,
with his eyes fixed on the lovely spinster.
Oiice or twice she opened her lips to re-
mind the young man of her mother s request,
but instantly closed them again, doubting
whether it would not be a breach of deco-
rum to address herself to a stanger.
'-^: The behaviour of Herman was equally
extraordinary. The charming spinster let
fall her distaff: and our hero, instead of run-
ning with eagerness to take it up, and avail-
ing, himself of the opportunity it afforded

4^^ HERMAX

of approaching and speaking to the object
of his affection, suffered her to stoop for it
herself, without making the least movement
to her assistance.

Ida, to whom this trifling accident had
not happened from coquetry, blushed with
shame, and resumed her spinning with fresh
eagerness, careful to avoid all seeming re-
proach of the stranger for his want of ad-
dress. Under such circumstances, it is dif-
ficult to say, whether, had the same event
been repeated, it would, after the failure of
the first opportunity, have been successful
in bringing about a conversation between
the lover and his mistress. Be this as it
may, an insurmountable obstacle was put to
it by the question which the mother who en-
tered at this moment, addressed to Herman.

*' And what intelligence from theempe-
'' ror does his envoy bring, as?"" said she,
again pressing Herman to be seated, while
she remained herself modestly standing be-
fore him. The chamberlain was a little-
embarrassed; he even blushed, a quality, at
present rare among courtiers, and found it

OF UNNA. 4?

no easy matter to execute with propriety the?
commission with which he was honoured.
Nor does our manuscript relate the manner
in which he acquitted himself ; it only men-
tions the effect it produced on Mrs. Mun-
ster, who smiled, and, giving a significant
nod to Ida, observed: '' Now, daughter,
*' my dream is out. In your father's ah-
" sence, I thought I found roses in our gar-
*-Hrden; now roses signify honors."

Thus saying, she went to a large chest»
which she opened with some noise, and
took out of it a small ebony casket. *^ I
'' am highly delighted," said she, seating
herself by the side of Herman, and empty-
ing the casket on the table, ^' that my hus-
' band is not at home, to deprive me of
* the honor of rendering a service- to so
' great a personage. Here, sir knight, take
' what you please, take all without counting
' it, except this chain indeed, and this
' ring, which belong to my daughter, — -
' Assure our emperor of my profound re-
' spect, and tell him that we love him
' with all our hearts since he has given us

48 HERMAN.:

'' so- good an empress. We hope that
'' through her, things will be better than
^': they have been."

Herman was surprised at the readineessr
with which this woman sacrificed, what he
conceived to be all her wealth, to a sove-
reign like Winceslaus. He looked at her
with astonishment; said a few words to
assure hej that the sum, wliatever it wa?>
should be faithfully repaid, though he be-
lieved no such thing; and then spoke of the
favour which the emperor had authorised
him to bestow on Munster, as a recompense
(orasvvas most likely a compensation and
recjuittal for the loan. ) " But who," added
Herman, * ■ has the greatest right to wear
'* the gold chain?he,for whom it was intended
** by the emperor, or the generous woman
** who has displayed such a readiness to
*^ serve him?''

*' My husband is not vain enough for
•' that," answered Mrs. Munster with a
smile; *' and, I should certainly make a
*' charming figure among the females of my
** station , decorated w^ith such an ornament !

OF UNNA. 49

*f£.Be that however as it may, if the empe-
" ror should be disposed to recompence
*' me, I mean, upon a proper occasion, to
*■' ask him a favor of another kind, which I
*■* hope he will not refuse me."

Herman assured her, that he would ob-
tain for her from the emperor whatever she
desired, and that he believed he might au-
thorize her, without detriment to the favour
which she intended to ask, to wear at pre-
sent in public any ornament she pleased,
i.- 3c. .Our your g man, who transferred to the
mother a portion of the sentiments which
be felt for the daughter, spoke with such
v/armih,'Xhat the smile of self-complacency
wa^, again lighted up in the countenance of
Mrs. -Munster. ''I am happy," said she,-
*^ to find that you have such influence with
•• your master, and! thank him for the
*' permission he gives me to use my ov/n
IbijeAvels, which I may now at any rate wear
*' i'n my house, should I feel so dispos-
'' ed. But as you are so much in favor
*' with the emperor, how is it he does not
*' permit you to wear a gold chain? I have

50 HERMAN.

"- seen you, I think, at church, and other
*' places, but never with this badge of
" honor; and yet you are a nobleman?" —
Herman blushed — The narrowness of his
fortune, and the mean parsimony of Win-
ceslaus, he well knew to be the cause of thi§3.
omission.

'* What," continued she, *' would you
^* say, were I for once: to act the emperor^ .
'* and decorate you with a chain? Ida, willv^
*' you give your consent?" The mother,
as she said this, held up a chain, which she
had just before declared to be her daughter's.
Ida made a sign of approbation. '' Come.
*' hither then," resumed the mother, "• andj j
'^ with your own hands place about his^r^^
'' neck the present which I make him atj^y-n
*^ your expence.

Ida was confused. She rose however,
at length, upon a second summons of her
mother, v/ith trepidation approached our
hero, took the chain, put it about his neck
and returned hastily to her distaff, without
scarcely looking at Herman, while he, al-
most beside himself, gazed on her with rap-
ture, and would have caught her in his arms.

OF UNNA. 51

Alongsilence ensued. Ida sat at her reel,
withber eyes fixed upon it, but without re-
suming her occupation: Kerman regarded
her with tenderness unutterable; and the
wife of Munster, sitting in a chair behind
them, observed them both with attention.
This dumb scene was at length put an
end to, by the latter asking our youth, if he
was not the chevalier Herman of Unna ? —
Herman was about to answer in the affirra-
ative, and to ask by v/hat means she had
come to the knowledge of his name, when
Mrs. Munster, hearing her husband's foot^
' step in the porch, requested him to conceal
, Ida's present in his pocket. He obeyed,
without asking the reason, and Munster
made his appearance. He was a good look-
'ing old man, and as decently dressed as his
I station permitted, A loftiness of carriage
[announced the independent citizen, who
jconsidered himself as equal to any of the
'nobility; but such goodness beamed from
every feature of his countenance, that it
was impossible not to pardon in him so
flight a failing. The presence of the cham-

52 HERMAN

berlain excited bJs surprise. Ke looked
with severity at his wife, ordered Ida to
withdraw, and then asked Herman what he
wanted. .- ]o ::j>.

The name of the emperor soften'ed a
little his features, and the commission with
which the envoy was charged caused him tai
smile, " I am charmed," said he, as soon-;
as he was informed of what had passed,.'
the present of Ida excepted. "• I am'i
' charmed that my wife has acted precisely
' as I should have done myself. The next
' time the emperor has occasion for me,
^ and it will not, I trust, be long first,., it;^
^ will then be my turn. "We are boundvj
' to sacrifice to our sovereign both our<
* fortunes and our lives. In one of thes
' loyal cities of his majesty I founda
t assistance and protection when I Was"
^ poor and persecuted. It is in his5
': dominions I have gained a portion of ^ '
^ what I possess : and he has a right to
' share it with me. On the part of your
■ master, therefore, you may come, young-
'man, as often as he shall desire you; but, ,
' on your own account never."

OF UNNA. 53

''^ After such a declaration, Herman was
! desirous of prolonging the conference: but
the answers he received were brief. He
spoke of renewing his visit, and added seme
comph-ments to Munster : but the old man
was silent. Herman then retired. What,
indeed, would it have availed him to have
staid? She, who so powerfully attracted him,
his dear Ida, was withdrawn ; and her mo-
ther, before so complainant, was.so changed
since the arrival of her husband, as not to
be- known for the same person.

Our hero, with slow and pensive steps,
returned to the palace, revolving, as he
went, every event that had passed. Ida's
looks, the mother's kindness the present
she had in so flattering a, manner bestowed
upon him by the hand of her daughter, and
a thousand, things beside, occupied . his
thoughts, enchanted him with hopes of
Which he examined not the solidity, and
Imade him forget, his chief business, and the
success with which it had been attended :
nor was it till he felt the burden of the
money which the good old lady had given

54 HERMAN

him, a burden which, in the first moments of
his joy, he had net perceived, that he recoU
lected what he had to do, and hastened to
impart to his master the event of his com-
mission.

It was a- law with Winceslau? never to
be satisfied; and lie departed not fVoj-rJi ifl
on the present OGGasion. The present
which the generous citizen had made him,
fell a few crowns short of the sum he had
requested. In his eyes the wealth of
Munster appeared inexhaustible, and he
talked of having shortly a second recourse
to it.

His confident paid little' attention to
what he said. He wished to be alone, that
he might again reflect on his adventure,.
and contemplate at leisure tiie chain he had
received; a jewel of no inconsiderable
value, and with which he was in every
tespect satisfied, except that the medallion
attached to it, instead of representing the
charming features of Ida, exhibited the
bearded visage of an old count of Wirtem-*
berg, respecting whom he had little curiosityr.

OF UNNA. 55

While Herrnan gave a loose to liis re-

.1 flections, and recalled to Insniind the beauty

\ of Ida, ?-^d the kindness of her mother, he

I must certainly have forgotten the severity

I of the father ; for, the next morning, as

soon as it was light, he repaired to the

house of old Munster, and was surprised at

not finding admittance. He was told that

i neither the master nor the mistress was at

home ; that it w^as to be presumed, after so

recent an application, he had no commands

from the emperor; and tliat he. could have

no other business there.

It was to no purpose that he persevered
in his visits, he was always dismissed in a
similar m.anner, and he began at last to
wish that the emperor might again have
need of m.oney, and might apply, as before,
tp,tli^" strong box of Munster. But Win-
ceslaiis' had Loo mucii cminine not to have
discovered "other more cjopious sources
from which to supply his wants. He cre-
ated earls, counts, princes, ^exacting from
each a sum propcTtionate lothfe', dignity
conferred.. " He also 'mvent^cf a new'way

56 HERMAN

of enriching himself by the appointment of
free-judges, and other officersof that dread-
ful tribunal, by the terrible arm of which
justice was then administered in secret. It
is true, the emperor had no right to such
nominations, the privilege belonging exclu-
sively to Westphalia, where those tribunal*
were in force. But Winceslaus was a man
little given to scrutinise things too narrowly;
he took what did not belong to him, as if
it had been his own, and felicitated himself
on the advantages to be derived from it.

OF UNNA. 57

CHAPTER VII.

A SECRET enmity subsisted between
count Victor of Milan, and a prince of the
house of Visconti. The cause of their
misunderstanding, and the motives that
prompted them to reciprocal injuries, are
foreign to our history. Ambition, how-
ever, and a thirst of vengeance, brought the
former to the court of V/inceslaus, to whom
he offered a hundred thousand florins,* (an
enormous sum in those days) if the empe-
ror would raise him to the dignity of a
duke. Winceslaus, deaf to the remon-
strances of the princes of the empire, who
would have dissuaded him from compli-
ance, listened only to his interest; and
granted to the count, in spite of the laws,
wliich were formally against it, not only
the favor which he publicly solicited, but
another, as the event proved, which he had
demanded in private, namely, the establish-
ment in his territories of a secret tribunal.

* Elcvxn thousand two hundred and fifty pounds.

^8 HERMAN

This was authorising him to arm, on the
slightest pretext, against any one who
offended him, a thousand executioners, who
might put the unhappy person to death,
Vv'herever they met him, without any one
daring to take vengeance of the deed.

This last motive of the count's visit i^ i
not sufficiently known for us to speak posi-
tively respecting it ; but it is certain that i
he obtained all be asked, and paid the em-
peror for bis couiplaisance even more gene-
rously than he bad promised.

Winceslaus now imagined himself hi
possession of inexhaustible mines of wealth.
Nothing was thought of at Prague but
scenes of dissipation. The most licentious j
entertainments, of which the preferment i
of the duke of Milan was the pretext and
the support, rapidly succeeded each other.
The people, vv'hile ihey murmured at the
follies of the emperor, had the greater folly
to imitate him. His extravagance gave a
t-emporary circulation to money, and the •,
pleasures with which his courtiers were '
intoxicated, found their way to the mc^t
distant corners of the citv.

OF UNNA. 59

It was about this time, that a dreadful
fire, of which some ancient chronicles still
speak, broke out in the eastern quarter of
Prague. The clock had just struck twelve.
The emperor, and his inseparable compa-
nion, the prince of Ratibor, were emptying
their capacious bumpers, which were to
divestthemofthelittlereason that remained,
while around them lay, dead drunk on the
floor, ail who had dared to enter the list
with such noble antagonists. Stammering,
and bursting with laughter, they descanted
on the manner in which their companions
had fallen. They then disputed about the
order in which it had happened, and the
time they could themselves hold out, so
warmly as to be on the point of coming to
blows.

During these riotous proceedings the
younger part of the company, who, though
least in number, were by far the most in-
teresting, had drank out of no cup but the
cup of pleasure, and were amusing them-
selves with the noble exercise of dancing.
In the midst of this brilliant circle was

Vol. I. D

60 KERMAX

Herman ; but he partook not of its joy, for
Ida was not there. Sometimes he went to
the window which looked towards that part
of the city in which she resided; then again
he would hastily retire, renewing the oath
which he had already a thousand times bro-
ken, to think of herno more. At length he
joined the dance, as the only way of dissipat-
ing hi^ chagrin. Though delicacy had pre-
vented him from becoming inebriated, yet
liad he drank enough to give him a mo-
mentary elevation of spirits; and his ima-
gination led him in turns to see the idol of
his heart in every nymph with whom he
lightly tripped round the hall.

On a sudden, extraordinary cries Vv^ere
heard, which spread trouble and confusion
through this joyous assembly. '' It is the
''• centinel," said a pretty blue-eyed girl to
Herman, pressing his arm, v/hich she held
to h,er heart : ''it is the centinel, announc-
'^ ing the approach of day; let us not
" :-pend in vain the precious moments that
"■ are on the wing." Tlie cries being
repeated, a top was put to the iiiusic. The

OF UNNA. 61

company listened. '' It is fire!" exclaimed
a hundred voices at once. The dancers
instantly crowded together, and as quickly
separated, running, some to the doors,
others to the windows, to discover where
the accident was, or fly from a danger
of which they were ignorant.

Herm.an flew to the window from which
-he had so little absented himself during the
■evening. All the eastern part of the sky
-was a sea of fire. The remembrance of
Ida rushed instantly to his mind, and dis-
sipated, in a moment, the kind of intoxi-
cation in which he was plunged. Invok-
ing her name, he abruptly quitted the hand
of his partner, which he had hitherto held;
and, almost beside himself, endeavoured,
by incredible exertions, to pierce through
the crowd which prevented him from get-
ting out of the apartment. This he effect-
ed, by throwing down every one that
opposed his passage, and having at length
gained the street, he ran with the wildness
of insanity, regardless of the distance, till
he arrived at the scene of devastation.
D 2

62 HERMAN

There But the reader will spare me the

recital of the dreadful and wide-spreading
ruin to which Herman would have been
witness, had he been susceptible of any-
other idea than that of the peril of his
mistress.

The inhabitants of that part of the city
where the conflagration had taken place,
were probably late informed of their dan-
ger ; for many of them, who had been cele-
brating the festival of Winceslaus, were
overcome with intoxication, and others,
exhausted by their daily labour, were as
profoundly sunk in sleep.

In the number of the latter was the
family of Munster. They were strangers to
the impure pleasures of dissipation. On
the contrary, their days were employed in
industry, and their nights in repose. The
event, beside, had happened on the eve of
the exaltation of the cross ; and to spend
such a night in pleasure, would have appear-
ed highly criminal to a family so religious.

Herman, half dead with apprehension,
found Munster and his wife, with folded

OF UNNA. _ 63

arms, gazing at their house, which was in
flames, and calling incessantly on their dear
Ida. It was with difficulty these unfortu-
nate parents had saved their own lives.
The father, who, after his escape, had
returned through the fire in order to rescue
his daughter, Vv'hom he sought in vain in
the apartment where she had been accus-
tomed to sleep, felt, so great was his anxiety,
no pain from his arm, which had been
scorched in the attempt; and the mother
seemed every moment ready to rush into
the flames to save her beloved child, or
perish wi;:h her.

'' Ida!" exclaimed the frantic Herman,
*' Is Ida then missing? Oh ! let me seek,
** let me save her!" Thus saying, he
seized a ladder, and placed it against that
part of the house v/hich the mother pointed
out. The wind having for an instant
blown away the flames from it, he mounted
on burning beams and heated stones, and
reached the chamber of his mistress. A
thick smoke enveloped and concealed him
from every eye. The parents of Ida could

D3

64 HERMAN.

no longer distinguish tiie deliverer of their
daughter. '' Ah! it is over with him too!"
exclaimed the mother, wringing her hands.
But, in a moment he appeared again, pene-
trated still farther into the fatal ruins, dis-
appeared a second time, again came in
sight, descended the ladder, and fell sense-
less into the arms of thoie who hastened
to his assistance.

*'Ah! he is returned v/ithout her!"
cried the distracted mother, running to-
wards him; ''he is returned without her!
''' O God, where is my child?"

While the mother thus bewailed the loss
cf Ida, the father was endeavouring to
revive the intrepid youth, who had so gene-
rously, and so unsuccessfully hazarded his
life for her. While traversing the house
in search of his beloved, the smoke had
nearly suffocated him: anxiety also, and
the efforts he had made, had totally ex-
hausted his strengh, so that his fainting
assumed the very image of death, and no-
thing but the torture occasioned by his
wounds could have recalled him to life.

OF UXNA. 65

Day began to break ; the crowd in-
creased ; the drunkards, and Vv'eary artisans
of Prague had been roused, and methods
were at length taken to put a stop to the
conflagration.

The parents of Ida quitted the melan-
choly spot, which they supposed to be the
grave of all their fehcity, in order to retire
to a small house belonging, to them, which
tlie flames had not reached. At their
entreaty, the unfortunate Herman directed
his servants to convey him to the same
place; the motlier having declared, that no
one but herself should have the care of him.

Scarcely had they gotten half-way, when
a p.'ing woman rushed from the crov/d,
and threw herself into their arms. It was Ida.

To describe the impression that was
made upon these unhappy beings, by her sud-
den appearance, is impossible. Her lover
and mother fainted away. The father alone
had sufficient presence of mind to ask her by
what strange miracle she had been saved.

'' Saved!" answered Ida, '' I have never
*' been in danger. God be praised that

D4

66 HERMAN

'' you are safe. It was but a few moments
'' ago that I heard of the fire, when I in-
" stantly ran to assist you, or perish with
'' you in the flames."

The father now, for the first time recol-
lected, that the evening before, Ida had
begged leave to go with their servant to a
distant church, dedicated to the Virgin, to
hear matins, which were to begin at mid-
night, and last till break of day. It was
there this excellent young woman first
heard the news of the calamity of her parents.
Her good angel, who watched over her
safety, had reserved her for the consolation
of others, and decreed that she should taste,
in the very lap of misfortune, a happkless
Vvhich she was far from expecting.

Herman being recovered from his swoon,
Ida was presented to him. She thanked
him in terms of the liveliest gratitude.
She did more; she became his nurse, and
bestowed on him the tenderest care, which
contributed not a little to feed the flame of
love in the heart of one, and to kindle it
in that of the other.

OF UNN*A, 67

CHAPTER VIIL

AS soon as Herman was cured, decency-
obliged him to quit the house of Munster.
He accordingly returned to the palace ; but
Winceslaus expressed little or no concern
for him, and was even so unfeeling as to
make his adventure the subject of ribaldry,
I'he courtiers imitated the example of their
master, and the amours of Herman and
Ida were for several days the standing jest
of the court. Sophia alone was generous
enough not to banter the young chevalier,
or utter a single pleasantry on the dangers
he had so gallantly braved. Neither the
reflections that had occupied her mind, nor
the endeavours of the princess of Ratibor,
had been able wholly to stifle the lively in-
clination with which Ida had at first inspired
her heart. She could not hear of the cala-
mity that had befallen the parents without
emotion; she rejoiced that their excellent
daughter had been so providentially saved ;
and she commissioned Herman to deliver^

D5

68 HERMAN

in her name, to the unfortunate f^iinlls^ a
present, which, considering the HttJe Sophia
had in her power, was far from being
trifling. Herman was transported to find
the secret wishes of his heart thus agreeably
accomplished. The diminution of Ida's,
happines.-, in consequence of the less her
father had sustained by the fire, hung heavy
on his mind. He contemplated with sor-
row the chain of gold he had received from
her in happier days, and thought it incum-
bent on him to return it; Lut, of such a
sacrifice, he found himself incapable, and
he chose rather to divest himself of all he
had that was valuable, though that indeed
was little, in order to make the best compen-
sation in his power. He added, therefore,
to the present of the empress,, rome jewels
of his own ; sure, under that respected
name, of their being received. Our youth
had, independently of this, another project
for the relief of this good family. He re-
membered the sum that had been lent by
Mrs. Munster; he knew that the emperor
had net spent the whole of what he had

OF UNNA. 69

received from the duke of Milan, and he
ventured to hint to him the repayment of
what he had borrowed. This freedom was
taken amiss, and was apparently she first
cause of the emperor's coolness towards his
favourite.

" Have you been desired," said Winces-
lau3, with an air of discontent, '' to remind
'• me of this trifle ?" — '' No," replied Her-
man. '' On the contrary, I ha\e reason to
'' believe that the generous wife of Monster
"■ intended it as a piesent, not as a loan,
" But such disinterestedness, is it not an

'' additional motive ? The emperor

interrupted him. '"'' Did you not mention,"
said he, "" some favour which this woman
*' talked of asking r" Herman bowed assent.
'' W^ell," continued the emperor, '' Itt us
'' wait till we know what it is; and I give

'' my word of honour that I will not "

refuse, he was going to say; but the fear of
pledging himself for something he might not
chuse to perform, induced him to break oH"
the conversation, and a sign of impatience,
which he made with his hand, obliged the
young chamberlain to withdraw.

70 HERMAN

Herman took his way towards the hum-
ble habitation of Munster, regretting, as he
went, that he had not been able to increase
the present of Sophia as much as he wished.
Had he been emperor, no sum would have
appeared to him too great to recompence the
the kindness of this honest citizen's wife.

He found the father of Ida alone. He
was uneasy that what he had to offer him
was not more considerable ; meanwhile he
presented it in the name of Sophia. Munster
hung down his head with an air of pensive-
ness, and his eyes overflowed with tears.
^' How geneiGus, how noble a creature!"
cried he at last : " the true mother of her
" people ! What she now does for me, she
*' is doing every day for a thousand of her
*' unfortunate subjects. She deprives her-
*' self of the little which the parsimony of
'' Wincesiaus allows her, to relieve the wants
*^ of others. What pity, that her influence
'^ over our master is not so great as was
*^ expected ! — And yet oar burdens are in
*^ many respects lightened, and the people
'' feel towards him less hatred since he has

OF UNNA. 71

*' given them such an angel for their
*^ mistress."

The heart of Herman was still fall of
bitterness against the emperor, and he could
not avoid reciting: to Manster the conver-
sation he had just had withjiim. '' You
"• were wrong,'* said the old man. ''Who-
""' ever lends to Winceslaus, never dreams
'* of being repaid: and as to the favour my
*' wife may have to ask, I beg you will not
*' interfere in it. Women have often
*' strange whims in their heads : and should
" my wife ask any thing of the emperor,
'' which, being attended with no expence to
'' him, he may, therefore, not refuse, it is
" possible that the favour, when obtained,
*' may prove more detrimental than advan-
'* tageous."

To the latter part of this discourse,
Herman made no reply; but he swore not
to rest, till the sum borrowed by the empe-
roi: was repaid. '' I consider myself," added
he, '' as your debtor. Would it were in
*"' my power to act up to my wishes ! O
'' heaven I grant me but a part, a small

72 HERMAN

'' part of the wealth, which thou hast, per-
" haps, one day destined for me, and 1 will
'' cheerfully renounce the rest! Enable

** me to ."

'' Young man^" interrnpted Munster,
assuming a serious countenance, '' you give
*' yourself too much concern about this
'' business ; and to calm a little your agita-
'' tion, I w'.ll disclose to you a secret, with
'' which even my wife and daughter are not
*' fully acquainted. I am not so poor as
'' you may imagine; as I was le-s rich than
'' the world believed me. I knew the
'-'■ reports spread respecting m.y wealth by
*^ my enemies; and had long expected, on
"■ the part of the emperor, some attempt to
'• make himself master of it. I would have
'^ obliged him with pleasure; I would have
*' granted him whatever l:e should have
'' asked, as long as it had been possible to
'' satisfy his rapaciousness, v/ithout ruin to
'' myself. But had my situation become
*' critica', I should have considered what
" steps 1 had to take. Princes first begin
I' with bono wing,- and end at last with

OF UNNA.. TS-

'' plundering. I know what has happened
'' to others. It is easy to find pretexts for
'' stripping an honest man of his property.
'^ If then I had suspected any such disaster.
^* approaching, I would have ccllectedvvhaf
^•^ I have buried in this house, and have fled
*'- with my family. My larger ho^ise, which
^^ is burnt, and which I can rebuild if I
'' please, though I have no such intention,
"• Winceslaus might, in that case,, have kept,
•-' to indemnfy himself for the loss of a good
*' and loyal subject.

Herman listened with the utmost surprise
to the old rnan, who thus continued his re-
cital. '' My wife, indeed, knows I have bu-
'^ ried some money here, but slie is ignorant
'' of the sum. A v;oman is always a woman,
''' that is to say, a being vain and presump-
'' tuous when foitune smiles, timid and
'' humble v/hen she frowns."

''■ But Idar" interrupted the young man,
vexed at these injurious complaints against
the sex, and in which his mistress seemed la
be involved.

74 HERMAN

^' As to Ida, she is out of the question,"
replied Munster, who, st the mention of her
name, seemed to fall into a profoiind revery.
After a moment's silence, *"' since we are
*' speaking of her," resumed he, " I must
*^ heg you not to take it amiss, if you should
*^ in future see her less frequently, or rather
'^ not at all. I know that ycu love her;
*' you have given the noblest proof of it;
*' but .... you must not think of her . . . . - ^
*' indeed you must not .... And you will
'' not, I hope, require what it is impossible
'' for me to grant."

Herman echoed the word impossible^ in a
tone expressive of the despair into which he
was thrown by a declaration that obliged
him to renounce an union on which depend- •
ed the happiness of his life. Though he
had hitherto not known himself what hopes
he could or ought to entertain; yet still had
he continued to hope, and he trembled
when he perceived a stroke aimed at the fra-
gile edifice which his imagination had fondly
erected in some obscure and uncertain futu-
rity.

OF UNNA. 7j

The old man strenuously combated the
passion of our youth, who no less strenu-
ously defended it. He was ready, he said,
to sacrifice to Ida his birlh, his situation,
and ail his future hopes; or he would enter
the list of combatants ?,nd raise himself by
his bravery, (the surest way to distinction in
the times of which we are speaking) to a de-
gree of power, that the world should not dare
to object to the marriage as unequal.

*' The opinion of the world is not what
'^ I fear; for things may be different from
'' vjh?it you imagine. But enough: I can-
" not tell you all. Tljere are circumftances

'^ in the case, which- In short, I must

** insist on your not attempting to see my
*' daughter, but that you endeavour to stifle
'^ an unhappy passion, which, should it
'* steal into the heart of Id-j, would render
*' her as unfortunate as yourself.'"'

An impenetrable obscurity reigned in
this discourse. The sort of hilf confidence
of Munster appeared unintelligible to Her-
man, and he was disposed to believe that
v/hat he had heard was only meant as a veil

76 HERMAN

to the old man's disinclinaticn, which, uc-
able to justify himself by reasonable motives,
had obliged him to resort to pretended
mysteries.

Bat a cordial squeeze by the handvassur-
ed Herman that he was mis aken. *' No,
'' young man," said ije, ** I love you: I
^' bad even an affection for you v*'hen L
'' sought to frustrate your endeavours to gain
'' access to my house : judge then if my sen-
** timents can be altered, now that I em
'' attached to you by gratitude."

Herman received these protestations Vvith
coldness, and left the houje of Munster with
the firrn resolution ne/er more to return to.
it, though h.is steps continually led hint.,
thither without his being aware of it. It is
true he had as yet not totally renounced the
hope of once more seeing Ida, or her com-
passionate mother. Even Munster himself,
cruel as he thought him, he found it impos-
sible to hate, and to be long absent from the
good old man was painful to his heart.

The inclinations conceived by this youth
educated in the fastidious notions of a court,

OF UNNA. 11

the society of a simple aiul unpolished
ilizen, will be thought perhaps extraordina-
ry. But let it be considered, that this citi-
zen was a man of no vulgar merit; and that
our hero, beside, who felt (or him so tender
an affection, had sense and virtue enough to
prefer the style of his actions and ccnversa-
tion to the manners of a court so dissolute
as th.at of V/inceslaus; he also frequently
owned to himself, that his detestation of vice,
and love of virtue, had been greater, since
his acquaintance and intimacy with this up-
right plebeian.

Bat senthnents of this nature were net
always sufficient tO' deter him from measures,
which he knevv^ w^ould be^ displeasing to his
I frank and guileless friend: for he formed
I the design of procuring a secret interview
either with Ida, or her mother; and respect-
ing the latter he was one day successful.

He found the good v/ife as much preju-
diced in his favor as ever. She united Vvith
him in complaining of the folly of her hus-
band; told him that she had something of
importance to disclose; and appointed an

78 HERMAN

evening, when he would have an oppor-
tunity of seeing her, as well as Ida, during
the absence of her rigid guardian.

Herman was punctual to the appoint-
ment. A female ."^ervant, admitted into
the secret, informed him however, on his
arrival, that her master was not yet gone
out, and placed him in a closet adjoining;
the parlour, where he could hear what was ;
passing between the parents of Ida, and
which we shall communicate to the reader.

'* And can you still," said Munster, as
Herman began to listen, *' can you still
*' suppose, after what I have said, that I
** have any dislike to the young man?
*' Believe me, the happiness of Ida is
*- scarcey more dear to me, and her hap-
'* piness is the sole object I have in view."

" Nor am I," said the wife, in a tone
discontent, '' governed by any other
*' motive."

*■' And yet you would take the worst
*' means of attaining it."

''.No, they are the best. It is necessary
*' she should emerge from the obscurity in

OF UNNA. 19

vvhich she has lived, if we would not eter-
•^ nally repent of what we have done."

'' I grant that it is necessary; but not
by the instrumentality of Herman. Let us
'' take the shortest and most direct road.
*' What can she hope from a young man
*' who has yet to make his fortune, and
!*' whose return from foreign countries she
*' will probably have long to wait ? Beside,
*' he belongs to a fam ly, which ."

*' Well, then, agree to my other pro-
posal."

*' In God's name, wife, abandon so
** dangerous a scheme ! Vi^hat would Ida
*' do in a court like that of Winceslaus ?
" Reflect on the anxieties we suffered by
*' your whim of letting her appear before
" Sophia, on the morrow of All-Saints, with
'' a valuable present. Would you renew
^' those anxieties? O how I regret, having
'' consented to a measure so absurd ! It is
" lost labour to make sacrifices to the great:
" they soon forget those from whom they
" receive obligations."

'' The event would have been different,
*' had Ida gone the next day, when the

80 HERMAN

*' empress sent for ber, instead of being
*' obliged, by your orders, to feign indis-
'' position,"

** Alas! bad tbe empress felt for her a
*^ stronger inclination than is usual to wo-
*' men of her rank, would she have con-
*' tented herself with a single invitation;
" or, what is more, so totally have forgot-
" ten the object that interested her? No:
*' and had I been so imprudent as to com-
*' ply with your wishes, Ida would have
" experienced the same fate as others, and
'' after spending a few days, or a few weeks at
*' court, would have been obliged, perhaps,
*' to return to her original obscurity, envied,
*' ridiculed, and hated."

The wife was silent.

*' You acknowledge, then, resumed the
'^^ husband, that your first project was
" irrational, ill calculated to answer its
''purpose; and that your second is the
'' same?"

'' I acknowledge no such thing. My
"•' project was the reverse of irrational, and^
*'- produced the consequence I expected.

Or UXNA. SI

iH I knew that Ida's appearance would secure
''• her the conquest of one heart at least;
; '' and this has actually happened, llie
/' good and amiable Herman loves her
r' tenderly. He is the man by whom the
" hand of fate means to draw her from her
''present retreat; and he will certainly
*' have her; he will one day share her hap-
t" piness."

" Must I a second time remind you of
" the impossibility of what you propose?
** An impossibility greater with respect to
"iiim, than any other person."

'' Do not give yourself the trouble;
I** you will never convince me."

'' What obstinacy ! promise at least that
" you will renounce your new chimera, and
*' leave matters to me."

"■ The fate of Ida interests me more
'^ nearly than it does you, and ."

" Relinquish your project, Maria ; I beg
'' it as a favour. You knovv^ how dear she
'* is to my heart, and how much I should
rejoice, if ."

The entrance of Ida put an end to the,
conversation, Munster declared his inteii

m HERMAN

tion of staying at home that evening, and
the daughter was desired to take her harp
instead of her distaff, to dissipate the clouds-
of discontent which hung on the minds of
her parents.

Herman was ent tied to some indemni-
fication for the disappointment of his hopes.
The pleasure of hearing Ida sing, play, and
talk, made him forget he was deprived of
that of seeing her ; and when the confidante
came to inform him, that the purpose of
his coming was defeated, and that he must
depart, she appeared, he thought, too soon.
He quitted with regret his obscure retreat,
and returned pensively to his home.

OF UNNA. 83

CHAPTER IX.

HISTORY does not inform us whether,
after the failure of the first, new attempts
to obtain a secret interview were made, or
whether they were frustrated by the vigi-
lance of Munster. Thus much is certain,
that Herman succeeded not in seeing either
the mother or the daughter; nor indeed
was his residence in Prague long enough
for him to practice many manoeuvres by
which he could at all hope to deceive so cir-
cumspect a character as the father of Ida.

Herman remarked, that the coldness of
his master, of whom he had so long been
the favourite, increased towards him every
day. *' The face of that buffoon," said the
emperor one day to madam von Baden,
with considerable sarcasm, "• bears the
" exact impression of a note of hand, which
'' he conceives to be due to the family of
'' Munster." ^ Now a countenance like this
could not fail to give his majesty sovereign
displeasure.

Vol. I. E

a* HERMAN

. But Winceslaiis was mistakenin hlsxon-
jecture. Munster had too often assured
his young frknd, that he neither desired
nor expected the repayment of what he had
lent, for Herman to entertain a thought of
reminding his master of so unpleasant a
subject. Kad the emperor possessed a little
more skill in the science of physiognomy,
he would have discovered, in the face of his
chamberlain, very different sentiments.
Secret: chagrin, weariness and disgust of
.every thing around him, and an ardent
desire of happier days, were depicted on
it; perhaps there was visible also, a degree
of regret at having offended a master, who
imagined no one had a right to.be dissatis*
fied but himself.

Our young man no longer idoubted the
ifate that awaited him. Well acquainted
with Winceslaus, he read in his eyes the
sentence of his disgrace, and he seriously
thought of withdrawing himself from court;
a resolution which Munster, from whom he
had no secret, seconded with all his
might.

OF UNNA. SS

*^ I am glad," said the old man, " to see
/' you at last inclined to do yourself, what
** I should long ago have advised. What
'' can you expect here ? You are spend-
'' ing the prime of life in idleness, and
*' wasting the time and strength that ought
'* to be employed in the career of honour.
*' Quit, young man, quit this place of sloth,
'' and seek, at a distance, some theatre
*' more worthy of your talents, a theatre
*' where you may find at once happiness
** and glory. Enter the service of some
♦^-powerful sovereign. Every part of the
l^world is not governed by princes lik^
^Winceslaus. We have the dukes of
^* Austria and Brunswick : in Hungary lives
*' king Sigismond. These are men who
** do honour to their rank. Chuse from
" among them a master; and be assured
***that he, whom you have so often called
^ your father, will not abandon you. I trust
^' you will not think it d-egrading to receive
'* from a citizen who is wealthy, that sue-
^'cour of which your ill fortune has left:
Eq

m HERMAN

** you in want: such pride has, doubdess,
'^ no place in your heart.

" What I would farther recommend,'^
£aid the old man, perceiving that Herman
was disposed to interrupt him, '' is, that
** you should demand that title of the em-
" peror which, indeed, you already enjoy
'^by courtesy. But I would have you be
*' in reality a knight; though it is wbim-
'' sical enough to hear this appellation
'^ bestowed on beardless courtiers, whose
'^ whole armour consists of a gold hiked
" sword, which they frequently wear, by
" mistake, on the right side instead of the
'' left. You, however," added he, perceiv-
ing that Herman was piqued at the reflec-
tion, '' are not of this number ; your cou-
'' rage, and your dexterity in the use of
" arms, are well known: but it is time that
'' you should quit such effeminate youths,
" whose society can do you no sort of
■^' honour."

Flerman complied v;ith his friend's
advice, and solicited of Winceslaus the
honour of knighthood. \Vinceslaus, whose

OF UN N A. 87

enmity to his former favourite was not so
great as to wish to deprive him either of his-
reputation or his life, v;as pleased to find
so easy a v;ay of getting rid of him, and'
granted his request.

Munster, the oracle of our young man,
had farther advised him to procure admis-
sion into one of the numerous orders which^
existed at that time, and the members of
which were spread all over Europe. To
this Herman equally consented, and, in
consideration of the state of his heart, he
chose the order offiddity^ or as it was called, ^
even in a period so remote, and not vvith-
Gut reason, the order of the good old times.

Our honost plebeian could with difE-
calty refrain from laughter, when the young
knight made his appearance, decorated with
the badge of his fraternity, which consisted
of a rose coloured sleeve peeping from
under his mail; and he expressed to him a
wish that he had entered into an order com- •
ananding more respect ; an observation to •
^hich Herman, who knew of nothing mor&

E3

83 HERMAN..

serious or respectable than his love, made
no reply.

Our new dubbed hero had never suffer-
ed himself to doubt that he should at least
be permitted to see Ida on the evening of
the day of his: instalment, and had exulted
i-n the hope ; but he soon found himself
mistaken, and was given to understand
that this ^^as a happiness he must not
expect till the day of his quitting Praguig^ i
an expedient to which Mtmster had recourse
in order to hasten his departure. To resist
the daily importunities of his wife, and the
solicitations of his young friend, was an
effort too painful for the old man. Beeide,
according to his mode of thinking, Ida and
lierman ought not to see each other at all,
as it was impossible for them to be united';
and he thought it, therefore, of the utmost
eoilsequence, that the latter sliould be goileV I

Meanwhile, the mother of Ida was ex-
tremely desirous of speaking, at least once
more to the young knight, that she might
be enabled to execute, by his means, a pro-
ject she had long had in her head, and of

which the reader must have perceived some
traces. But this was what Munster was
anxious to prevent, and was one of the
reasons v/hich made him urge so strongly-
the departure of Herman. Thus the wshed-
for interview could not take place.
,/ii'Gn the evening that preceded our-
^ight's departure, Munster expressed a
wish to be informed of the reasons that had
brought him, at so early an age^ t9c..tl>e.
court of Winceslaus,' Herman, wlio. had-
too much gratitude to his old friend to
refuse him such a request, readily consent-
ed: '.' but," added he '' may I not, in iny^
^^Uifir^ a&fc a similar favour? I iind-ija
l^i^omiJl family such extraordinary circum-
^^!stances — — Ida, for example, possessing
Vl«o many accomplishments^ without rank,
^Vcwitbout birth: yourself, more nobl^c^
'\ minded, displaying trqer dignity of sen?
*' timent, than any lord of the court, and
*' yet a humble plebeian — - — -t*., ,It. isij^iqa-f
possible." ^ ' ' . ..,.'t '.^A .^T.^-j-

" You do extreme honour to o^r st^-f
1*t^tion," replied the old mm ijl;^ toiaQjof

90 HERMANO

irony, '' but it may perhaps extiibitat pre-
*' sent, more proofs of true nobility than
^'^ your's. Since, however, you cleerii me
*' so extraordinary a personage, know, that
'' in my youth I bore arms ; that I long
** resided at the courts of princes, and have
''travelled through Italy and England,
*' where I studied the best performances of
** the art which I have for many years
*' exercised. The profession of a soldier
^* did not enrich me; I grew tired of it,
*' and returned to that which I had first
*' been taught. It has afforded me sub-
" sistence, and made me what I am ; that
** is to say, a free and independent being,
*' standing in need of the protection of no
*'^ sovereign whatever, whereas the sword
*' would ever have left me their slave. I
*' was the subject of a prince, who, after I
"■ had rendered him a thousand services,
" refused me a single one, which to him
** was a trifle, though of the utmost import-
'' ance to me. I was in love with a hand-
*' some young woman, who was in the ser-
" vice of his wife. As she was not a free

OF UNNA. 91

Si .woman, I demanded her liberty, in order
** espou&e'her ; a request which he thought
'* proper to deny. At length an event
*' happened which gave us an opportunity
'V of escaping. The business, I must con-
'' fess, was not conducted in a manner
'' altogether seemly; but to what will not
'' the love of women drive us?

" We found an asylum at Nuremberg.
*' Our late master was the sv/orn enemy of
*' the imperial cities, and they, in their
'' turn, as cordially hated him. Our flight
'' served us as a recommendation. The
" freedom of the city was granted me, and^
" I entered upon my profession. My per-
" formances were admired : I acquired re-
*' putation, and money poured in upon me
'* from every quarter. I was happy, and
*' should have continued so to this hour, if
^' the fickle disposition of my wife had not
*^ led me to remove. Out of politeness to
'' lier, I accepted an offer that was made
'' me of ornamenting the cathedral at
*' Prague; though I had much rather have
l' refused it, not only from attachment to a

E5

92 HERMAN .

*' place where I hadjound so welcome a
" reception, but for other reasons which I
" could mention. But these are foreign
*' to the matter in question. Such are the
'* outlines of my story. And . now, my
*' friend, begin the recital of your's, which
*V will, doubfless^ prove more iqleref Un§.

OF UNNA, 93

rbiiiv/ e[hj?£6^

CHAPTER X,

msrORr OF HERMAN,

'' MY recital would certainly interest
** you," replied the chevalier, *' could I
** relate to you at large the story of my father
** and grand-father, and the different events
** that reduced me to the state in which you
*•' find me. A state of such poverty, that
*' either I must remain in the- service of a
*' dissolute prince or turn monk, if I re-
*' fuse assistance from those to whom I
*' would much rather give it. Pardon me^
'' my dear Munster, and do not be offended
'* that I wish to change places with you,
*' that I would rather load you wdth bene-^
'' fits, than receive them from you.**

Munster readily comprehended his
meaning. The young man had been oblig-^
ed that very evening to accept, under the^
name of a loan, the present that had beea
lately made to the honest citizen by the em-

94P HERMAN

press, and whicli Herman had secretly aug-
mented with what he had been able to add
of his own. The manner in which this loan
was offered him, was so noble, and at the
same time so urgent, that it was impossible
for him to refuse it, a circumstance which
contributed to heighten his gratitU'de.

Returning the old man's squeeze by the
hand, the only answer which Munster made
him, Herman thus continued his recital. —
'^ My ancestors had their faults, and it is I
'-'• who am doomed to suffer for them. My
'' grandfather, the youngest son of his fami-
*' ly, quarrelled with his eldest brother, the
'^ present reigning count of Unna. My
*' father drew on himself the anger of my
'' uncle still more, by the part that he and
'' his elder sons took in the war which the
^' knights of St. Martin waged with the
'^ count of Wirtemberg; and I, who was
*^ then a child, shared in the punishment,
*' without having participated in the offence. "

At the name of the count of Wirtem-
berg, a profound sigh escaped from Munster
and Herman continued his narrative. — *' I

OF UNNA. 95-

-^J kno'^v not whether you are acquainted
*' with the adventures of count Everard of
*' Wisbaden ; but I will endeavour to give
'* you some idea of them."

'' You may spare yourself the trouble,"

said Munster, with a look of discontent.

"• I know count Wirtemberg and his history
*' somewhat better than youi The knights
'' of St. Martin got intelligence of his resi-
*' ding at ^yisbaden. Instigated by ;the-
'' hopes of a rich booty, or perhaps by other
" motives, they besieged it, and would have-
'' made the count and all his people prison--
" ers, had he not contrived to escape by the^
'^ hollov; way which leads by the mountain."

'' It was that unfortunate and inglorious
'' expedition," resumed Herman, '' which
*' cost my father and one of my broihers^
'' their lives, lendered their names odious^
"■ and involved. them in the implacable ha->
^\ tred of the chief of our house. With the.
'*^ consent of the emperor, the old count of
'' Unna seized the greater part of our pro-
*' perty, and threatened to employ against-
*' us the secret tribunal, cf which he was-

96 HERMAN

'* chief in the district, should afiyiyf Us dare
*' to justify my father, or oppose the punish-
" nient inflicted on us.

'' At that time, all this was unintelligible*
''to me, though I heard much talk about it:
" but of the consequence that ensued J dai-
" ly- became more sensible,

'^ *' I was the youngest of all my brothers
"'and" sisters, some of whom were old^
'* gtidugh to be my parents, and oughl to
" have supplied to me the plade of thdsi^^r .
"had lost. Bernard, the eldest, and, df
" course, chief of the you-jger branch of the
" hous^e of Unna, was treated by tliem all
"■with the profound^st respect; '^^hd,'whe-
"ther from attachm.ent to him, or pride of
♦* birth,' the greatest part embraced a rell-
'^ gious life, to enable him to support with/
" decency the name of. cur hddsei^L'He^'cW' ]
" among my relatioiYsT ckii prolluc^ ■eccle-
" siastics of evefy ' descffptioh: ' canbiis^ .'
" abbesses, knights of religious orders, nurfs-
''' in abundance, antlthere Vv'ould have been
''at lea'^t%^e-''ittitife-'^imW^^.A I

" been di^^d% ^^li!!:ri^t k\f wlii^W'that"

OF VS^A. m

'•'of others, for the honor was reserved for
'* me of making my vows at the convent of
*' Korf. To procure me this hon^i the
'' more speedily, a dispensation, by means-.
'' of a sum of money, was obtained from^
''our holy father the pope, purporting,
" ' that, in consideration of his early wis-
'* dom, extraordinary piety and wonderful
". tokens of a divine call, the noble Hermaii-

" of Unna was permitted, at the age of thir-
"jteen, to quit the wo rid ^ and embrace a^
" heavenly hfe/ - -, .

, " Our family must have been fruitful^.
**iia prodigies of this sort; for two of my
'''sistersv who, were but a, few years older,
"i than myself, had lately obtained a similar
" favor. But, as I was present v/hen they
" took the, veil, and consequently witnessed
*'^e rdejection with which they accepted,
"jhe benefit conferred on them, I began to
" doubt my premature wisdom, and signal.
" piety, and was ashamed to avail myself of
" an honor I so little merited.

" Poor Agnes J unhappy Pelroniila!
*' thougiit I, as I q[uitted ane morning .tl>e

9^ HERMAN

* convent, never to see it again ; would

* that I could as easily deliver you from
' the life of angels, which you are compelled

* to lead on earth, as I voluntarily re-

* nounce it for myself! Adieu, imfor-
' tunate saints! Adieu, ye tombs! Adieu,
' ye echoing vaults of this fatal prison!
'Perhaps, half a century hence, we may
' meet again.

'" My disposition had been always gay
'and active. When only eight years of
' age, I took a pleasure in handling my

* elder brother's sabre, and in being placed
' by the servants on his charger. What
'in my infancy was my sport, became, as
' I grew up, the object of my most ardent
'desire. And they wanted me to devote
' myself to the indolent life of a cloyster!
' It was a project that never pleased me.
' If I appeared to consent, it was only to
' render my flight the more easy : and I
'managed m^atters so well, that, by the

' assistance of a domestic of my brotlier, .

' I effected my escape, and arrived, with-

*' cut-accident, at the asylum I had chosen,.

'* This asylum, in which I hoped to find

''my safety, was the court of Winceslaus.

*^ I had heard, that it was the duty of an

*' emperor to protect the oppressed, and

'■^ considering myself as the most perse-

*' cuted being on earth, I presented my-

" self before his majesty with as much

*' confidence, as if v/hat I had to ask

*' were not of the nature cf a favor, but

" something to which I had an indisputable

*' right.. I conceived it to be an act of

"justice. But does Winceslaus under-

*^ stand the claims of oppressed humanity?

'•^ This was a question I never asked myselfl

'•^Alas, I little, knew the risk I incurred.

" My lucky star, however, brought me into

*' his presence precisely at one of thos^

'* moments, so rare, in Vv'hich he found

*^ himself disposed to benevolence. You

'' are not to be informed, that there is no

""tyrant, however cruel, who has not slight

'' intervals of this kind.

*' I was admitted among his pages. My
*'^ gratitude, which I in a thousand ways
''evinced, my liveliness, and my gaiety,

im flERMAN

'"attached Mm wine." ^'xvbuld^Mvr me
" sleep in his apartment, day arid riight I
'' must be the agent of liis secret com.-
'^missions;, and the indefatigible zeal v/ith^
'^ whicli I acquitted myself, obtained, me*
*' every day a greater share of his oonfi-
" dence. In spite of the guise of flattery^.
*' it was impossible but Winceslaus mustT
** sometimaes have perceived, in the eyes
'* of those who attended him^.. , a ,secTiqt dis-
'* approbation of liis conduct* V/ith^me,,
", Jiowever, he had no such inconvenience
*^' to dread, for I imagined that every thing.
*•■ which an emperor did ^ must necessarily.
• V be jigh t , ^ . . 5 II AY 9 g f pFthis, jT^S^^
*' to haye jne. constantly, about his per^o;! ri
*^..and thus I. was gradually initiated into. ^11^

'' :the secrets of his debanched: i i fe .":.. , .. „

V . "•' Poor );o]an^ VQ;^xt^.-^,J^f^^}m^
6^^.,;^^^li^, :^' sc|o9|^^i^tJif^ .,

i,..*f.No very dangerous one, be assuifed..,
** I was too young to have any inclination.
^\ for the practices of my master :. beside,
'\ I thaugbt them becoming: only in, jbim p
** and felt as little desij^e to swoUow hi*.)

'^bun^p^r^, or share his mistresses Favours,
"• as to wallow in the mire with the swine.-
/' On the other hand, my love of arms,
"jand my continual occupations, contri-
•*''iDUt<sci'.ndl; a" little to preserve me from
'''such vicious propensities. When Win-
"ceslaus was asleep, and even when awake,
'* but incapable of thinking, from intoxi-
*^*^tation, moments when he wished not to
^^ 'see me, I used to repair to old Herman
*' of Hertingshausen, esquire to the em-
*^- peror, "who, from the siinilarity of our
''•^thrrstian names, had conceived a regard
'^fer'tiiei' He spared neither pains nor
'■'''yxp!"ence 'to make me an accomplished,
^^'knight, even while I was yet but a simple
'*/page. Success rendered me vain. All
-^'thy comrades hated me, not accepting
'' Kunzman, the sor- cf cid Hertir^gdmusef.v
''for the haughtiness with which I carried
"Vmyself, on account of the preference
^^tiidi was shewn me ;. and a Bword,
^'" tv^iich the emperor permitted me to wear,
••^ by distinguishing me from other yotiths
"^ of my age, filled up the measure of their.
'*' jealousy. They styled me the page in.

102 HERMAxV

^*>' armour ; and I was vain of the titl^,.
yr^hough it was given me in derision. '

'* The desire of perfecting myself ir^"
'^ the exercises of chivalry, and of serving ;
*^ the emperor with fidelity, wholly occu-
'' pied my mind: every thing else was i . -=
'* different to me. It was known that I was .
** the favourite of Winceslaus, and of con- •'
*' sequence every one refrained from '
*' speaking before me, who never concealed
*' from him a syllable of what formed
•Wthe common conversation of his subjects j
*- I mean the indignation excited by h'li
*' extravagances. Few herd the simplicity
'-' to believe with me, that there were
'' things allowable in an emperor, wliich
y- ought to be punished in a private indi-
'' vidua]. Thus he was hated p-nd despised^
*' by the people, and they secretly formed
*' a plan to rid themselves of him.

"- It w^as not till late that the emperor
*' was apprized of this conspiracy. When-
'' at length he found it necessary to be
*' upon his guard; things had been car-
''■' ritd so far, that he did not think himself*

OF UN-NA. 103

•^l-Bafeat Prague, and was obliged to make
" his escape in the night, accompanied by
" the most faithful of his servants, of whom
'A I was one. He betook himself to a castle
'-a few leagues from the city, to which he
*' had given the nan:ie of Conradsbourg,
! Hi and wbich he had fortified purposely as a
l^nretreat in case of an event of this nature.
kno>' Here I first learned the cause of our
^Hudden flight. I was .astonihed to find
'r that an emperor could incur any danger ;
'' and, from the notions I had formed of
^,!..the rights of sovereigns, I conceived the
J-^Vtfeatment of Winceslaus, who had told
ViK>e of his situation, to be so unjust and
'' unworthy, that I swore to defend him to
'>i4he last drop of my blood.
!vv*';,. Winceslaus laughed, and addressing
'^TKaie hj' a.filthy. nickname, witii which he
'* sometimes honoured me: ' Were things
\' come to that pass, said he, that thou
'-'i'wert to be my only defender, I should
' ■ :be in a woeful plight indeed. Leave
''-thy sword in its scabbard, let-thy arm be
'.^ at rest, and make use of thy ears. IJsten

^04 -HERMAN

'' when thou seest two people talking toge-
" ther .privately; pretend to be asleep;
"• speak of me with contempt ; say that I
'-' have beaten thee, that thou hatest me,
*' and wishest me dead; thus will they
*' place confidence in thee, thou wilt learn;
** every thing, and we shall know what
" measures to take for our safety.

" This advice of my master was so con-
** trary to my own way of thinking, and I
*' trusted so much to the goodness of my
** sword, that I neglected every other mode
'* of serving him ; and, though we had'
*' iione but secret attem.pts to fear, I
*' thought only of opposing myself to open
'* force.

'' The general discontent towards Win-
*^ ceslaus continued to encrease. Soon
*' after his arrival at Conradsbourg, he had
'* caused thr^e of the principal malcontents
*' to be pubHciy executed; and the same
"day, my faithful instructor in chivalry,-:
*^ old Hertingshausen, was found assassinated ■
*• on the road from Conradsbourg tO:
" Prague. In the bark of the tree, at the

loot of which he fell, the perpetrators

- had' stuck two poinards, stained with his

\' blood, on which were engraven, in ill

^' formed letters, the following: words:*

'\ Executed by the free judges far the crime of high

treason. No one^ except myself, was

,';ignorant of the author of this infamous

'-deed. I ran to wash with my tears, the

*\body of my unfartunate friend; but it

*4' was already conveyed away from the

\V, curiosity of the people. On my return,

'Jr.I .met Kunzman, son of the deceased,

v. who said to me, with despair in his coun-

*f tenance : ^ This is one of the noble

'^ .exploits of that dear master, of whom

" thou art so fond f

,.r. '^'- 1 hesitated not to appear before the
•'*': emperor, and repeat to him what I had.
*tjust heard from Kunzman. The pusil-
'|,Ianim.ity of Winceslaus was so great, that

3!t Winceslaus, as history informs us, had thought pro-
per to usurp the right of creating free counts and free
judges of the secret tribunal ; but these were not acknow-
ledged by the ancient ones legally established. This
reiViarIc will perhaps be found necessary for the under-
stsmding of what ibliows.

196 HERMAN

'' he condescended to justify himself to, one
'' of his servants; and I, who had the
*' utmost confidence in him, was easily per-
** suaded. ' you see ^plainly enough, said
** he to me, that it was not I, hut the agents
*' of the secret tribunal, v^ho committed the
'' murder. I did not even know that
'* Hertingshausen haS been guilty of trea-
^* son : but be that as it may, you may be
** convinced from his example, that tiie
" most secret crimes are punished by divine-
" vengeance.'

'' I blindly believed all that Winceslaus
"told me, and promised to bring over-
" Kunzman to the same way of thinking.
'' The next day, as I was passing under an
'^ c^rched passage in the fortress, I received
'' a violent blow on the side, without see-
" ing the person by whom it was ^ivca: I
'' thought, however, that the voice I heard
*' was Kunzman s. — * Cursed informer,' it
'Scried, ' thy tongue is the cause that I must
"fly my country.' — V/ith the violence of
*•' the blow I had fallen to the ground. I
*' got upon.jaiy-.-feet as expeditiously as I

OF UNNA. 107

" was able, but saw nobody. I reflected
** on the words but could not comprehend
'' them. I forgot them, therefore, and
^''thought of them no more, notwithstand-
" ing I learned the next day, that Kunz-
'* man, whom I had never loved, and \vho
"' was one of the pages of Winceslaus, had
'* disappeared. It never once entered my
*' head that I had spoken imprudently of
'' him to the emperor, and had, by that
" ^^ means, exposed him to persecution, and
'' obliged him to fly.

*' These, and other instances of ven-
•^ geance, inflicted by the emperor, led
*' persons to act with greater circumspec-
*' tion. He was hated in secret and flat-
" tered in public. As I was also feared,
*' whatever was likely to give umbrage was
** carefully concealed from me ; and thus
" both master and servant thought them-
*' selves as much in safety as ever.

*' Winceslaus, however, durst not yet

*' return to Prague : but he found it so easy

'' to satisfy his inclination for women, as

*' well as wine, in the environs of Conrads-

F

108 HERMAN

" bourg, a place Indeed too well calculated
'' for so vile a debauchee, that he gave
'' himself little concern about his capital.

'' In the district were various sorts of
'' monks; and they so well understood hov/
*''^to make their court to him, that the- 1
'• emperor frequently invited them to come
'^ and get drunk with him, and visited
''them in return, to procure himself the
'^' sam.e pleasure. Winceslaus was at heart,
"- no great friend to monks; but their wine
'' was delicious, and that was sufficient to
'* induce him to forget his antipathy, and
''live with them on terms of the most
" brotherly affection.

tJ '' During one of these visits to the con^
*' vent of Braunau, his enemies, probably
" with the connivance of his jovial hosts,
" attacked him, and carried him prisoner
" to Prague. I was. not present. My rea-
'' son, which began to unfold with my
*' ripening years, prevented me fram re^
" maining, as heretofore, the tranquil spec-
*' tator of the emperor's debaucliery. His
*' aspect, when intoxicated, was dreadful j*-
•* and the addition of perhaps a doze?a

OF UN N A. lOJI

** drunken monks, who surrounded him
*' on these occasions, was to me, who had
** frequently been forced to witness similar
'* scenes, so disgusting, that I thought my-
'' self happy to be excused from attending
*' him at Braunau, and instead of it to go
*' a hunting. It was, therefore, not till
*' my return from the chace, that I learned
*' the news of his being taken. My zeal
*^ to serve him was immediately roused*^
*' Both gratitude and affection loudly called
*' upon me to save a man, who merited, in
*' reality, neither of these sentiments. I
'"' gallopped full speed towards the city,
^' hophig to overtake the conductors of
*' Winceslaus, and promising myself to
*' achieve miracles of valour; but I found
" every thing quiet on the road, as well as
'•'• in the city.

'' When I arrived at the gate, I fell
** from, my horse out of breath. Some
"- persons who were near came to my assist-
*' ance, and asked me some questions. I
** spoke in high terms of the imprisonment
^' of my master, and demanded where he
F2

110 HERMANc,

*' was.—* Hold your peace,,' said,<i.^oIdier
''* on guard; 'thank Godwe have hvm,^nd
** be not so singular as to grieve for^an
*' event at which every body else is^ re-
*' jdiced : but it is not proper to talk of
'' this business yet, the emperor , has- too
*^ many partisans among the people.' m

'^ I had no occasion to know more ; I
'** escaped, and ran through the city, pro-
*•• claiming the imprisonment of Winces^-
**^*lani,' Vnd' itiy intention to deliver him ;
^' and befoxe a- single person interposed to
■'*~* stop me, I found myself at the head of a
*^ considerable troop, who accompanied, me
'^'tothe tower where the emperor was con-
•*' Sned;^hdiwote''t6^tbnquer or.td diei in
** rescuing their good; their generous prince,
** tlie protector of liberty ,- and the; friend
■*^ of the pedple;'-'i''^" bl-od^ I jsm bns '-

** Certainly, non^ of the subjects: of
' * Winceslans had s^' much rieiasoni ito^ iove i
** him as the lower class of the people.
** Their poverty screened them from those a
*' extortions to Which' the rich were^ex-^ |
f* posed.':-'' He- permitted them .evsTy. stitf, f

o)^Ml>i3iA. ill

^^' 'of liberty , and Was not ashamed, upon
^^occa^ron, to drink even with a porter.
'^^He knew, also, how to procure them
*** bread at a cheap rate ;. but it was always
^' at the expence of the rich, and without
'* the smallest cost to himself.

''Circumstances of this nature were

*' vaunted to the skies during our march to

'' the prisonv which we attacked SQ vigo-

' ' ro u sly ^. t hat. a li tt 1 e mo re fi r m ne ss^ ar a

'* better. leader, would'infallibly have gained

v>* U3 the victory. But we v;ere quickly

i?^- dispersed, and the only advantage J de-

^3^. rived from the enterprijse, .was. the being,

'' made prisoner, and shut up. iu tli^ tower

'' ia whichrmy master was confined^

fijjiih* This consoled me. I hoped that we

''"•should be placed in the same apartn>enr,

''and that I should enjoy the pleasure xdF

1ft' hearing from his mouth the, praises of my

3^f|idelity;LBut my expectations were cruelly

c^Misappointed. I was thrown into a filthy

aibdungeon, where I remained till the em-

*^^peror had contrived to set . himself .at

^^Miberty , without my having ^ ix^^ , tl^e

F3 . ■'■'

112 HERMAN

'' slightest degree coiuributed to it, a cir-
^* cumstance at which I was very sorely
'' grieved. The idea suggested to him by
*' madam von Baden, of throwing himself
'' into the river, and then saving himself
*' by swimming, or by means of a boat, was
*' so simple, and so easily executed, that
'' I could not forgive myself for not think-
'' ing of it. I envied Susanna the part she
'* performed on this extraordinary occasion,
*' and was vexed to perceive that another
** had rendered my master more essential
'' service than myself.

.. '* At length I was also set at liberty.
" Perhaps V/inceslaus began again to ren-
'" der himself feared, audit was not thought
'* prudent longer to ill-treat one of his
'** servants ; or perhaps I was considered as
** a person of too little Importance to be
'' detained after my master had escaped.

'* I was no sooner at large, thaii T has-
** tened to Conradsbourg. Tliere I related
*' to the emperor what I had done, and the
*' disaster that had befallen me : but instead
*' of the praises I expected, or the least

OF UNNA. 113

*" token of pity for my misfortunes, I was
'■' received with an air of coolness and dis-
'' satisfaction. My want of address, be
'' pretended, was the sole cause of my
-' failure. I ought to have planned my
■' scheme as wisely as Susanna had planned
*' hers. It was a disgrace to me to have
'' been surpassed by a woman. — Such, and
'* more mortifying still, were the reproaches
•' he made me* ' -^"S^^

" I barned with impatience to ^de'this
t*' heroine Susanna. No one else was
"'* talked of at Conradsbourg. I had formed
*J the sublimest idea of her: but my ex-
*^ pectations were once more disappointed.
'' Instead of a beauty, as she was styled by
'.':the flattery of the courtiers, out" of
** deference to the emperor, who was dis-
■'^tractedly fond of her, I saw a coarse
'' prdinary crerature, \vhbse greatest In^rit,
"in the eyes of Winceslaus, I quickly per-
** ceived, consisted in her complaisance,
*^ v>?hich, indeed, was boundless. -'^^ -'

'' Unable to conceal the cint^mptSvitli
'' which this woman inspired ttief'^^^iiink

F4' ■ ■• ■ - -: ■■'--

^l^v.e^}y[in,my master's opinion ; beside
^*M:hat, he sometimes took- it into iiis head
.J^^'jto be jealous, of me. I was. tall, y^upg,
^i-tqlerably -weU. made* and mada% von
fjVBaden had said that I ^W^ handsopae.- AU
^^n-this disgusted me, andahe attachment I
,.\*3 had hitherto iekjff^r^^^^nc^hus,,^^^^^^

r u3kA f^.iY^.^^^ flow ,becpme so little necessary
^,^, the emperor, tliat I might spend whole
^^'^^ days , ill hunting, without being miss^
^^j^iy.hiin. ; Du one of those days he fell a
y,^e9Dpd time into the hands of ijis enemiesr
^\r{ fQ9k f^je.UQt igp repeat ;Q|n tjjjs, tjae^im-
j)jpruderice into which I had fallen on the
.VVfprmer occasion. Meanwhile, the libera-
** tion of the emperor was resolved on in
*' .py.mind; but iwy motiv^ was, the love
^\:Gf glory, for I .no longer felt either grati-
^^lyde.or attaciiment. I was desirous only
^'^,of jretrieving ^he reputation ,1 had lost^ by
^:tpy first . successless . enterprise, and of
\[ jviping away the reproach of having been
L^^surpassed by a woman. \,;

:-.-..'' As J could npt bear the idea of being
** in any respect compared with the despi-

OF UNNA. 115

••^Via^WeiTiistr^ss of Winceslaus, I rejected,
*»t!he instant they presented themselves^
-<* every project that bore the least rese.nir-
-''*' blance to hers. And yet, in spite of my
^'repugnance, fate decreed, that I should
J*^Be reduced to the necessity of employing
>'* precisely the same means. All the artir
'*■ fices I practised to extricate the emperor
*' from the tower of Prague, were frustrated;
'^^'^ild it happened, after the tim^and pains
^'^t hScf xVasted, and money I had spent in
*' corrupting his guards, that he was sudr
"•^^^denly removed to Krumlau, where my
'**^^/efforts to. deliver him proved equally
^^^"al3;ortiire;"tift:^I resorted to the' expedient
'' of Susanna;^ whidi I fiad: so-^positiveljr
'' determined to avoid/

\' I gained over to my purpose a fisher-
]?^ m!tn/ ;We rowed: at night under the
"^ A'iaridpw of the pris6fi where the'^mperor
:*^ 'was confined. Luckily this window had
'^ no bars; and my voice informed hinx
>* that we were there to assist his escape.
.*'^ We spread a large net on the water, and.
^*^ begged his majesty to throw himself iuto

F5 " "-'"

116 HERMAN

'* it. This operation we were obliged to
** repeat for several nights together, before
'^' the dastardly Winceslaus could summon
" resolution enough to take the leap. On
*' the third evening wine came to our aid ;
*' and it is impossible to say whether it was
'^ his own free will, or the fumes of intoxi-
*' cation that threw him into our arms. Be
'^ that as it may, he was saved: but instead
" of thanking us, he complained of his fall,
*'• refused the fisherman the reward I hid
*' promised, and would certainly have been
*' delivered up to his enemies by our in-
*' terested conductor, had J not appeased
*•' him by some trifling presents, and by
*^ assuring him that, as to the remainder of
*' his claim, it was I, not the emperor,
~*' whom he might consider as his debtor.

" This protnise, on my part, satisfied
** the iisherniaru Winceslaus, one would
** suppose, must have been mortified to find
** the word of one of his servants have
'** more weight than his own: but he dis-
'* covered no such sentiment. He rubbed
^* liis arms and side^, and grumbled and

Q^a¥#N^. 117

*.' moaned over his paim till wp reached
*' the opposite bank of the river.

*' I delivered him into the hands of
^{jSusanna, who nursed him for^.t-i^^q .,or
•t^tliree days, when he found himself per-
"fectly recovered. It was then he first
" thought proper to return me some slight
'' acknowledgment for the service I had
'- rendered him.

ij. '•' 'Herman,* said he tome V 'lam satis-

**-fied with thy conduct. Thou hast had

' ihe skill to catch in thy net the greatest

" fish in -the empire. If thou canst spread

'' it so as to take also my enemies^.,|..^\^iU

*Moad thee with favours,, and thou shalt

.'•'have no farther need to be a fisherman.'

>* I. perfectly understood what was

' ', m ean^ . ^ by tliis figurative Ian guage . I

b'sbegged time to consider of it,, avowing,

iMfho.^rever, to his majesty, that I y/as more-

f^iinclined tO; lope^^vyaEj. tha^ s^ciet jo^a-

6Vrioeuvres.,. : ■ +0 -:>-, 'j , h,.,../.^.:, /.

-3r b'S JUi • the mean tim|B we bad eyefy xlay

>',4asert^rs from Prague,,, who jnfbrn:ied. us

■b*.:tiiat .jit.: was; seripusly intej>4;^4nfe attack:

118 HERMAN^

'* Conradsbourg, as it was by no means
*' likely, after what had happened, that
*VWinceslaus would again suffer himself to
*' be surprised out of his castle. It appeared
'' also, that the appointmentt of a new em-
" peror was in contemplation ; and that
** the day when Winceslaus should fall a
*' third time into the hands of his enemies,
'' would be that of his death.

'* Prague had a numerous garrison.

" Not that it was thought necessary on our

*•' account, whose strength excited little

*' apprehension; but to act against those

*',wko, after the death of Winceslaus, might

^^ dispute-, 4he crown. Every day fresh

*V troops arrived in the city, and we were

*^ told that there was shortly expected a

^ considerable reinforcement from Hun-

*' gary, 5ent by king Sigismond.

;>ji .^' Sigismond was the brother of^Win-

:'V;:ceslaus, and, on his demise without chil-

:*':dren, heir to the crown of Bohemia.

:*^V Though this was sufficient for the emr

'' peror to hate him, yet were the senti-

^* ments of Sigismond too noble to ,seek to

OF UXNA. 11^

^^^im^iEit: his brolhet*s enmity, either by

** attempting his life, or seizing his throne;

'' and it appears, that, in consenting to

'* assist the dissatisiied subjects o( Winces-

^iriaus, his view was to enable them to

>' check the career of his dissipation, and

^'prescribe terms to him on which he

,^'should still be permitted to reign. It

*' seems too, that Sigismond was ignorant

<*i\\<>f i ti^ ill intentions of the Bohemians,

Mctowards- tb.eir master.,

»^ '' I had heard enough of the king of

^-^ Hu^ngary to form this opinion of his cha-

^*^ raiCtei?>'atid. I fortunately brought over the

'^'emperor To the same way of thinking.

^■^* He according resolved to write to him,

''^-and demand his assistance. This wa-s

-*' his letter ::-^8in^')ii.

"" ^ And: are you also against me? Oh*!

"•*' rKiriB of CHir father, • Wrest not from me

"*' what was given me by him. Employ not

'' your power in favour of my enemies, biit

*' employ it rather to save an unfortunate

'' brother,'

\m HERMAN

'' The court of Winceslaus was then so
" deserted, so destitute of persons of con-^
'' sideration, that he was obliged to confide
'' to me, a page of seventeen-, the delivery
'•^ of this important letter. I believe, how-
*' ever, that few would have executed the
*' office better. I was to supply, by con-
" versation, what he dared not commit to
'^^ paper; and the warmth with which I
*'• pleaded my master's cause, made such an
*' impression on Sigismond, that he deter-
" mined in favour of Winceslaus. * A so-
^'' vereign,' said he, * who has such ser-
** vants, cannot be so bad as my brother is
'* represented.' \

'^ Sigismond. at length tliought proper
*' to make trial of my fidelity, and not
'' being dissatisfied with me, he loaded me
''with his confidence. Nothing but my
*' youth prevented his giving me tlie'cGm-
** mand of the troops which he sent to his
*' brother. He recommended me, how-
'* ever, strongly to his general, a warrior of
*' no common merit, yet who had the
** modesty to ask my advice on the order of
'' our march, and to follow it,.

OF UNxVA, 121:

" The inhabitants of Prague had long
'* expected the troops of king Sigismond,
*' which they supposed were to side with
*^ them against the emperor. Accordingly
-*' we gave ourselves out for their allies;
*' nor w^as it till we were in the heart of the
*' city, that we declared ourselves their,
*' enemies.

'' The taking of the castle of Wischerad"
'' was, in the general's opinion, the point of
*"' most importance. In the attack much
'■'• blood was spilt, but we at last carried it ;.
^' and the emperor, who w-as apprised of all
'^ our measures, was sufficiently near, to
*' come, at the first signal, to take posses-
'^ sion of this fortress.

'' From the battlements of the castle^he
*' shewed himself to the people, with a
*' numerous train of attendants. Having
'^ refrained that day from drinking, he was
^' capable of speaking with a certain degree
*^ of energy; and he was proclaimed sove-
*' reign anevv-. He granted a general aznr
•' nesty, and, to confirm it, the principai
''inhabitants of the city were invited to his

I^ HERMAN

1

*' table. My heart beat with joy, when I
^Vbeheld the preparations for such an enter-
'* tainment. For the first time in my hfe I
** thought Winceslaus great, and woxthy. of
** his rank, since he was capable of pardon-
*^* ing h's enemies with sueh true magnani-
" mity. I threw myself at his feet, as if to
'' thank him for his mercy to others. I had.
•^' always apprehended scenes of bloody.
'* stenM' Prague again Ml intoi his -|iands ;.
'Y/ahdi \v5^s delighted at so .agreeably' find-
'^'^fng-niy self mistaken. ' ■..:':,

3"^' '" The emperor, however, rQjdelyrepaL-^
*^%d m6-froto'him, and called mean efiemi-'
**'nate fDol.' It was not till the end dfethe
*' repast, that I began to suspect what had
" rendered the expression of my feeHngs so-
** disagreeable to him. Winceslaus could
^ * * n6t rece i ve with pleasuf e i itesti monies: of
' ' gratitude and admiratioii of ^hichJie kiiew
'*^ himself so little deserving. ';-;>?^ ? ■ -

• '^ The guests were sitting franqtriHyi at
'* table. The wine^ which flowed plentifully
* '- iVis(pii:ed therh with ^ga lety i - ^Tlie -g66d cv-
*^ tizens of Prague,'/at t-hei^ sov^teigre's-r^^-

(3'F-UK^NA. 123

*^ q^'^t, ^{^mnted Out fd hiiii with confidence,
**'t Pie changes they wished to see take place
'■t under his future governi-nent. Winces-
*^"Iaus promised every thing ; and these poor
'' d«lude4 people-^ - s^wore to him elernal
'^'i fidelity, and' a devotion without bounds.
o.t ^*' The emperor then took his glass, and
?- drank to the stability of the peace that
'^Jimi).yjst been concluded. His guests
V'#tedgedihim: but, aiasi it was the signal
*'\of th^ir death. Twenty sabres Instantly
'' glittered behind them. Tiie greater part
*vfell beneath the murdering steel, before
*-;theyjp«Eceived themselves in danger, and
\*' .the floor was deluged with mingled streams
*Jbfflf blood and of wine.
o> .^Mt is impossible to describe to you
'bhybatTfelt on this terrible occasion. De-
*Jcspair:fo5rati:inslant rendered me 33ptotipn-<
M.'less: but speedily recovering myself, my
'' first thought was to intreat Winceslaus to
*v:spare tho^:e uqhappy beings; my second
*^J^nst?i>d up, in^tbfeir defence,, iThoxx r^^
*iiflecting, that neither of:-,these st^ps could-
■-t^ve-^hem^^and having^: beheld an hgiiest

124 HERMAN

'' old man of fourscore, whom I had ahvava^
•"^ ahvays respected for his venerable appear-
'^ ance, mm^dered by my side, I fell sense^
'' less on the floor. My agitation, my sur-
'^ prise, my despair, were too great to be
" resisted, I was voting too, and though I
'' had seen tliC blood of an eriemy flowing in
*' battle, I had never beheld that of the
*' innocent &]:ed at a feast. Do not.kpgli
''at my weakness: I was foi e e d to un k
"■ under it."

*' Why,^ cried Munster^ ," attempt to
*' justify yourself? What wotiid deserve
■'' praise, if your condLict on that occaslonu
•' could "be blamed r"

** And yet blamed it was. Win-ces-Iaus-
^* treated me as a u'eak and pusillanimous
'' being, terrified at the sight of blood; and'
''for three days I was furbidden to appear
^' at court. . : ^

'' I ardently wished never to see again
** that cavern of murderers. My heart was ^
*"' completely alienated from the emperor; ;
*' and I imparted to the commander of the
♦'^Hungarians,' the only person who visited

■ OF UNNA. 125

" me during my confinement, the desire I
*' Jiad to enter into the service of tlie king
" his master.

'^ That brave soldier, who loved me,
" counseiied me to-reiiialn at the eourt of
*' Bohemia. ' You behold,' said he, what
" has passed with a too rigid eye .-reasons ol
" st:ite justify ni'any actions tliat have an
^* appearance of injustice. It was in a man-
*' ner impossible the emperor should let the
'' rebels go wholly unpunished.*
- *' I made a long speech in defence of
*?^ my opinion ; to which my friend answer-
** ed only by his silence: and I sav/ too
'' plainly, that the world, and even the most
*'^ enlightened part of it, thought of certain
^^ matters very differently from inexperi-
^* -enced innocence.

'"'-■ My confidence in the general at length
" determined me to pardon Winceslaus an
*' action of which I had no ri.sjht to consti-
^Hute myself the judge. He advised me to-
'' re-establish myself in the em.peror's favor^
*' should he be disposed to receive me as be-
'' fore y to turn to advantage the influence I

126 HERMAN

'Miad over him,; and not forfeit, by a pre-
" cipltate retreat, the recompence due tauie
'' for the important service I had rendered
'' him," ^;

"• The time of my confineiiientv' wliicli
" I would willingly have prolonged, being
" expired,^ I again appeared at court. Thr
*' kindness with which the emperor received
*• me, attached me to him afresh; aiTtl'tiie
•'^decree condemning those wlio had^be(:ii
*'^ killed having been made public, I resdlv-
*^ ed to drive from my mind every reraen:-
*'■ brance of that fatal night, that I nlight not
•**'4'elapse' into doubt whether they i were
*' justly or unjustly put to death, o" '"^"^ .

*' Winceslaus seemed to have ''c!ialio;ea
'' hi? way of life, and to cotiduct himself;
*^ better than he had hetetoTore done* He
"'^ remained for days together free frbril in-
*' toxication. His bottle companfon, ''thci
'' prince of Ratibor, who was detested by|
'^ the people, remaiiied at Conradsbourgj-;
'* neither Susanna nor any other of his pjis-
^' tresses appeared ; arid a mafrtag^ was talkn
'' ed of with Sophia, daughter of the duke o£
^' Bavaria.

OF UNNA, W

"■ The wliole country was rejoiced at the
*' latter resolution of the emperor, every
rA,persan fancying, that a virtuous spouse
** would complete the reformation that was
" begiui. For niv part, J felt myself like
,V,;Qthers elated with hope, and was attached
''anew towards my master. . I saw him live
'' in a manner so different from what had
" formerly displeased me, that I swore ne-
'' ver: to quit, him: an oath which I mky
*^ break without offending ray conscience,
'' since my hopes are 'completely destroyed.

V Sophia, the charming, the .virtuous
"..Sophia, is i^de.jd, become our empress; but
" how slight, are the traces of reformation
** she was expected to work] On the very
'' day of. the wedding, the prince of Ratibor
*•' agai^rrafid^ his appearance; and with him
"j^it^t;he ancient habits of debauchery. He
|*\i was soon followed by the worthless Susanr
*';na. . Winceslaus had the matchless effron*
" terv. to. present her himself to his wife ■ -
• O Munsteri I could tell vou aip sc^nes-^-
*J,liapIess, unfortunate So^iia I

to Sibb 3dj 30 T3ldgu6b efiidqo^ iW

128 HERMAN

*' But of what am I thinking ? my business
" is to relate my own, not her adventures,
*' But I am not arrived at the close of my
*' recital, at the most important events of
*' my life. The appearance of Ida, the love
'* 1 conceived for her, my consequent un-
'' happinefs, the necessity I am under of quit-
'' ting her: O my father! ail this you are
^' acquaiiHed with, and I have nothing more
*' to inform you."

'' You liave forgotten to miention the re-
*' ward, w'hich your master owed you for the
*' important service you rendered him, and
'* for which your friend the Hungarian ad-
** vised you to wait at Prague."

''• The manner in jwhich you speak
-'* proves sufficiently what you think. I re-
•' member, indeed, that once, in a fit of
** drunkenness and gratitude, I w^s promised
" the first vacant grand fief of the empire, a
*' promise in which I could place no great
*' confidence, as the gift was much too con-
** side I able for me. I therefore modestly
^^ declined it, and contented myself with
" asking an honorable em.ployment in the

OF XJNNA. 129

..rmy^ '■ Instead of that I obtained tl:e pal-

>' try place of a chamberlain, which, as it v\as

** the first favour J received, will in all pro-

*' bability be the last. But no: the title of

** knight, and the permission to go and seek

"'my fortune wherever I please, are surely

^*' to be reckoned as something."

> This conversation was followed by a long

silence. Munster and his young friend

seemed totally absorbed in thought. At

■lengtli Herman first shook off his melan-

;choiy, and imparted to the good citizen his

intention of entering into the service of king

■Sigismond, to whom he was known, and at

wiiose court was his friend, the Hungarian

general, whom Herman did not know to be

one of tlie chiefs of the empire.

Munster approved of this design, and
promised to give him for esquire, an old and
faithful domestic, who had formerly served
in the army of Sigismond; and thus they
separated for the evening.

130 HERMAN

CHAPTER XI.

THE day of Herman's departure arrived."
He had paid all those tedious visits of cere-
mony, which are requisite on such an occa-
sion. One only remained for him to make,
but that of all others the most distressing,
the visit he owed to the family of Munster.
He had to take kave of the good old citizen
and his wife ; he was once morfe to see Ida,
for her father had promised it, and to im-
print upon her cheek his first, perhaps his
last salute. !

Half intoxicated with pleasure, he re-
paired to the habitation of his mistress*
Munster received him at the door, and led
him to the parlour, intreating him to recol-
lect himself, and to spare the feelings of his
daughter. Ida was the first object he per-
ceived. He trembled as he approached
her. Her paleness, her eyes brimful of
tears, almost tempted him to believe that
the idea of separation was as painful to her
as to himself. For a time they were both

OF UNNA. 131

silent. Her eyes were cast on the ground :
his seemed as if they would devour a beloved
object, the longer to retain its remem-
brance.

'' My children," cried Munster; " do
'* not thus rend my heart, and augment
'•^ your own sufferings; embrace quickly,
*' and bid each other adieu."

Herman drew near to kiss the cheek of
Ida, who received his salute with all the
modesty customary in those days with
young women. He took the courage to
pass his arm round the neck of his mistress:
hers involuntarily opened; slae pressed
him to her heart, and an adieu, tender as
ever lover received, escaped from her lips.
Her father made a sign : Ida disengaged
herself from the young man's embrace, gave
Jiim a last, a lingering look, and withdrew,
her cheeks burning with blushes, to her
apartment.

Herman, perfectly beside himself when
his mistress had disappeared, paid no atten-
tion to what Munster addressed to him.
The old man was silent; but presently
G

132 HERMAN

Herman, recovering himself, asked if he
were not to see the mother of Ida, and take
leave also of her. Munster acquiesced ;
and she immediately entered. She had pur-
posely waited, in the hope of being able, at
last, to execute part at least, of a design she
had long resolved upon. Her countenance
expressed more anxiousness than sorrow,
and she appeared attentively to observe her
husband, in order to seize the first oppor-
tunity of speaking a fev/ words, unper-
ceived, to Herman. At length Munster
having turned for a moment towards the
window, she whispered to our hero. — *'How
*' unlucky," said she," '' that you have
** never attempted to speak to me in pri-
•' vate! I had so many things to tell you !"
Munster turned round to make some
trifling remark, and the conversation broke
off. Herman was in no hurry to take leave,
hoping to learn some of the secrets of Ida's
mother. The old gentleman being asked
for, probably by his wife's orders, was
obliged to go out of the room ; and, the
moment he shut the door, she exclaimed :

OF UNNA. 133

<*0slr! one day, one single day more, I
*' intreat you! I have paid a visit to the
*^ emperor in behalf of Ida : you must
*' second us, you must remind him that he
*' owes me a favour, which he has promised
" not to refuse."

She would have said more, but her hus-
band returned; and though Herman staid
yet three tedious hours, Munster stirred not
from him for an instant, and his curiosity
remained unsatisfied.

*' You promised me, my dear Munster;"
said the young knight, as he rose to take
leave, '' a faithful attendant. In that
'' expectation I have dismissed all my do-
'* mestics, and lam anxious to see my future
*•• esquire."

Munster went out to call old Andrew.
This was a golden opportunity which the
wife failed not to embrace. — ** Ida is not
*' our daughter," said she in -a low voice.
— '' I am only her nurse. Offended love,
** and the dread of leaving her in the hands
*' of a wicked stepmother, induced me — .**
The return of the old gentleman prevented
G2

134 HERMAN

her from finishing her discovery, and soon
after appeared the domestic, who swore
fidelity to his young master, and obtained
from him, in return, the promise of never
being abandoned by him ; but on the con-
trary, if fortune proved favourable to Her-
man, that he would make his old age com-
fortable to him : a promise which the
young knight would assuredly have made
with still greater <:ordiality, had he been
capable of noticing the ingenuous and trusty
countenance of his new valet, and the
v^^armth Vvith which he entered into his
engagement ; but, in truth, his mind was
at that time otherwise occupied. He
thought of nothing but the extraordinary
intelligence he had heard from Mrs. Mun-
ster, and his only concern was to know
more on the subject, or to learn, at least,
the name of Ida's parents.

All his hopes depended on the embrace
he was to receive from Mrs. Munster. In
fact, she held him a long time in her arms,
and had even whispered in his ear: '' she

'' is the daughter of the count of ."

when Munster interfered.

OF UNNA. U5

" What are you doing?" cried he, with
a smile, as he parted them. " Do you
'• think, young man, that embraces like
'^ these are not enough to make me
"jealous?"

Herman was vexed: and answered the
old gentleman with a degree of ill humour,
perceiving, at the same time, traces of a
similar sentiment in the eyes of his friend.
It was, indeed, highly improbable, that a
man of so much penetration should not
have' perceived something of what was
endeavoured to be concealed from him.

They parted then: and the various sen-
timents that occupied their minds, as sur-
prise, discontent, and disappointed hope,
scarcely left room for the entrance of sor-
row ; so that at the moment of taking leave,
a moment so miuch dreaded, there was not
a single tear shed.

G3

136 HERMAN

CHAPTER XIL

HERMAN mounted his horse, and
^allopped full speed out of the city. So
many different thoughts distracted his at-
tention, that he perceived neither the
length of his journey, nor the approach of
iiight. He did not even answer the ques-
tion of old Andrew, who asked where he
meant to take up his lodging. The kiss
he had received from Ida, which could
leave him no doubt of her love ; the news
of her noble birth, so delightfully flattering
to his vanity ; the uncertainty of her name;
were ample subjects for his profoundest
meditation. He thus entirely forgot tjie
business he had undertaken for Mrs. Mun-
ster, the visit the honest city dame had paid
to the emperor, the promise of which he
was to remind him, and on account of
which he had been so urgently pressed to
remain at least one day longer at Prague.

It is impossible for us to say, how the
thought recurred to him; but it is certain,

OF UNNA. 137

that on a sudden he began to consider
where he was, and, seeing night coming on,
and Prague at a great distance, he was
enraged at his forgetfulness.

*' Let us instantly go back," said he to
his servant, turning about his horse at the
same time.'— -'* I have a commission to the
'* emperor, the execution of which is indis-
*' pensable. I have ^ ."

Andrew had already more than once
suspected, that Herman was not perfectly
in his senses ; and his suspicions were con-
firmed, when he perceived the warmth with
which he spoke, the want of connexion in
what he said, and his eager and perturbed
looks.

Our knight, however, returned by the
way he had come, with such expedition,
that Andrew lost sight of him, before he
had time to consider what measures were to
be taken for the cure of his unhappy
master.

To follow and overtake him, was the
most necessary step for the present. And
this he accordingly effected, resolving not

G4

138 HERMAN

to lose him again from his sight, that he
might always have an eye on his actions.

Our historian does not infornius of the
hour at which Herman arrived at Prague,
nor of the time when his trusty esquire dis-
carded the false opinion he had conceived
of him. Be that as it may, every thing
conspired to prolong and increase our hero's
impatience. To go to court that evening,
or rather that night, was impossible. In
the morning he learnt, that the emperor
had set off the night before for Conrads-
bourg. Immediately he repaired thither,
and w-as given to understand that he was
gone to Kramlau. There Herman was not
more fortunate. He was told of several
other places, to which he repaired with
similar success. At last, after travelling
three or four days to no purpose, he re-
turned to Conradsbourg, which VVincesIaus
had nevef quitted. But all his attempts
were vain to gain admittance to those, to
whom he had formerly so easy access.
Every door was shut against him . Obliged
to rellnqush his purpose of executing him-

OF UNNA. 139

self, the commission that brought liim back,
he entrusted it to one of his ancient friends
atcourt, who at length deigned to see him.
The courtier promised to execute it with
punctuality, and forgot it the next moment.

Herman again took his way to Hungary.
The extraordinary circumstances, that had
at fir^t excited such strong emiOtions, be-
came familiar to him, and he began to turn
his attention to other objects. Andrew, on
his part, discovered, that his master had
in reality, as much sense as other men;
and that his heart was as pure as that of aii
angel. His gentleness and affability gained
him so completely the affection of his old
esquire, tliat he would have sacrificed his
life for him, and consequently Herman had
just reason to believe, that he would not
refuse him a less important service.

Our young kniH.it was not ignorant that
Andrew had resided for many years in the
family of Munster. It Was possible; that he
might be acquainted with Idas birth; and,
accordingly, Herman sought to draw from
him what he knew of the matter. But

G5

140 HERMAN

either he had nothing to comftiuuicate to
him, or Munster had been too prudent to
give him a servant, capable of disclosing tp
his new master, the secrets of him whose
service he had quitted.

The same depression of spirits, which
Herman experienced from his disappointed
hopes, prevailed at Prague in the house of
Munster* The old gentleman was dis-
pleased with his wife, and regretted the
absence of his young friend, though he still
retained a little anger against him. Ida
wept for her dear Herman, but dared not
let her tears be perceived by any eye, but
hers whom she called her mother. And
Mrs. Munster daily expected to be sent
for to court, to be asked what she
wanted : but expected it in vain. — *' He
*"' must have forgotten me," said she to
herself, a little out of humour : '* he must
•'surely have departed without executing
•^* my commission. Yet he was seen at
^ Prague the day after his taking leave of
"''•us. He was seen also at Conradsbourg,
*♦ where the emperor resides. Let us have

aF UNNA. 141

** a little patience: when Winceslaus re-

'' turns, all will go well."

Winceslaus returned : but the honest

citizen's wife was still not sent for. Days,

weeks, months passed away : at length she
resolved to take a step, which she was sure
would not only gain her access, but be pleas-
ing to the emperor, and obtain for her
what she desired.

One day, in Munster's absence, having
put on her Sunday attire, she took from-
their private treasure, which she had helped-
her husband to bury, two hundred crowns
of gold, which were at least half what they
possessed. Then reflecting for a moment,
whether it would not be an affront to the-
emperor to offer him such a trifle, and
whether she had not better give him the
whole, that she might be certain of success,
she at last added to the sum fifty crowns
more, which she had herself hoarded up ,*
and thus equipped, she set out for court.

The memoirs before us, relate not the
manner in which she delivered her present
to the emperor, nor the favour she suppli-

142 HERMAN

cated. With respect to the latter, howeven,
something may be inferred from the result
of her visit : and as to the former, it is
sufficiently known, that it required no great
skill to avoid wounding the delicacy of
Winceslaus, and prevail on him to receive
the price of a favour solicited.

Ida saw her mother go out and return.
Her holiday cloaths, her anxious and em-
barrassed countenance at her departure,
and her air of triumph when she came
back, struck her : but she enquired not the
reason. The remembrance of Herman
too powerfully engaged her mind, for her
to take concern in any thing else.

'' Will you never have done weep'ng?"
said her mother to her one afternoon, as
they were at work together. '" My daughter,
'' my dear daughter, solitude nourishes your
'Vsorrow, and I must devise some means of
'' drawhig you from it, if I would not re-
*^ solve to lose you for ever."

''Oh! permit me still to live in soli-
*' tude:" cried Ida, at the same time wiping
her eyes with one hand,, whilst, the other
pressed that of her mother to her heart.
"' What society can I prefer to the tranquil

OF UNNA. rS

*^ repose I enjoy with the most indulgent of
** mothers, to whom I am permitted to un-
*' bosom my griefs?"

'' Not the company of the young wo-
.*' men, who are so ready td style them-
*' selves your acquaintance, I grant: but
*' if I could place you in a sphere, where
>' you would be surrounded by all that rs
.*' handsome and accomplished, and where
'' you would, notwithstanding, bear away
*' the palm ; would you not be pleasedl
** with it, Ida ? There you. would not
** think so often of your Herman ; or if you
'' did, your thoughts would be enlivened
*' by hope, and the remembrance of hiip
>' would cost you fevv^er tears."

" I desire not, my dear mother, what is-
'^ impossible : all my wishes are confined
*' to being the ornament of your house,
** since you are pleased so to think me."

'' But suppose you were destined to live
'' at court?"

'' Thank heaven, I am not."

"• If the empress, for example, were tro
*' admit you as one of her maids cf honour,
'' v/ould that be sux;h a niisfortune ?"

144 HERMAN

'** O that incomparable woman !" said
Ida, kissing the lock of Sophia's hair, which
she always wore about her neck, in a purse
of gold net-work. ** Yes, to serve her, to
** see her every day, to be beloved by her,
" would indeed be a thing ."

*' Which you would ardently desire?
^' Well, then! congratulate yourself; your
*' wishes are accomplished. To-morrow,
*' perhaps, you will quit this life of ob-
** scurity, which suits you less than you are i
*' aware. ' You will be sent for to court :.
*' you will associate with the daughters of '
'^ the noblest families in the country; and
** you have nothing to do, but to consider.
'* yourself as their equal, and forget that
''you have hitherto been regarded as our
'*- daughter."

''What! my dear mother," exclaimed
Ida, rising hastily from her seat: *' forget
" you ! forget my birth! enter into^ a rank.
** that does not belong to me! — Surely you.
" wish to try me. No: your Ida is notso^i
** vain ; she is not so unmindful of her
" duty. Do not draw such inferences

OF UNNA. 145

** from the words that escaped me. The
*' empress is far less dear to me than you,
*' nor would I exchange ycur company for
•' her's." Thus saying, the lovely Ida affec-
tionately threw her arms round the neck of
the person whom she supposed to be her
mother; while the latter melted into tears,
pressed her to her bosom, and, sobbing,
declared herself unworthy of such tender-
ness ; an expression which afflicted the
young maiden, for she did not comprehend.
it so fully as the reader*

145 HERMAN

CHAPTER XIIL

THE day subsequent to this conversa-
tion, Munster came home aboi^t noon, quite
out of breath. Pale, and almost distracted
he fi-ung himself into a chair, and for a
while paid no attention to the questions of
his- wife, wlio repeatedly asked him what^
was the. matter.

'^O Maria!" cried he, at last:" such i
^^ news, such melancholy news! you will !
''indeed be astonished ; but will you be- i
'^ reasonable enough to hear it, with as
'' much composure as I did? I am just come
*'' from court. The emperor sent for me
'' about Ida ; he wishes to take her from us;
'' he wishes lier to be one of the maids of
*^' honour to the empress."

" Is that the melancholy news?"

"' God knows the reason of this favour,
'' as it is termed^ But much was said of
'* Ida's beauty, and the reputation she en-
*'* joys: for my part I have never had any

OF UNNA. 147

** opinion of your reputable maidens. Can
'Mt be on account of her good qualities,

*' that she is sought after? Ah, wife,

'' wife! of what irreparable folly wert thou
"- guilty, in exhibiting her to public view
'' the Day of All Saints!"

'- And what, I pray, would you propose
*' to yourself by keeping her always in this
*' obscurity. Is she your daughter? Do
*' you mean to make her the wife of some
'' homely citizen like ourselves? Or
*' must a youth of her own rank come and
*' force our locks and bolts to take her away?
'' You have sent away the worthy Herman,
'' and is it likely you should give a better
*' reception to another ? Are we never to
'' to think of restoring to her that of which
*^ we have deprived her?"

'' We, Maria; we^ You well know who
'* it was that did it. You yourself perpe-
'* trated the deed. I would have dissuaded
'' you, and I consented to your wishes at
*' last, only because I must otherwise have
*' lost you. You recollect how you snatch-
*' the infant from my arras, when I was going

i48 HERMAN .

' to carry her b?xk to the count. ' Deh\ ei

* us up both/ you said, ' or deliver up
^ neither of us: where she is, I will be: I

* cannot leave her alone in the hands of the
' new countess.' But Ida had a father : he.

* would have been her protector.

** These reproaches however, came toe
' late; and I scknowledge that the only part
' that remains for us, is to endeavour to
' compensate to her what she lost in
' being taken from her parents. — This-

* is a duty we owe not only to Ida for
' having deprived her of the rank to which
' she was born, but also to the count, though,

* probably, he has not once missed her
^ amongst the"children of his new spouse."^

*' For my part I have no other desire but
' that count Everard should some day learn,
' that the child he supposes to be lost, is
'' still alive: but I ov/n, it would please me,
' that he should not be informed of this, till
' we have procured her a fortune equal to

* her birth, without his assistance, and with- j

* out disclosinof her name. And on thisj

* account I cannot but regret, that you-^

OF UNNA. 149

counteracted all my schemes with regard
to sir Herman of Unna."

'' Have you forgo'ten then the insult
=' count Everard received from this family?
•* Old Bernard of Unna w.is one of the chief
•* of the knights of St. Martin: never will
'* the count pardon him the affair of Wis-
" baden."

*' But is the consent of count Everard
"necessary to Ida's happiness? Had we, as
^^ I advised, placed her in the rank which
'*' is her due, every other difficulty would
** have vanisshed. Our wealth w^culd have
*' compensated for Herman's poverty : his
" bravery would have laised himto distinc*
" tion^ and all my wishes would have been
" accomplished. But alas! )^u have des-
" troyed my dearest hopes ! Herman is gone,
'' and I must now form new projects."

"• New projects: Hear mine, Maria.

" We have long been bewildered in thema-
" zes of error: let us fcr once follow the
*' direct line of truth: it is the easiest, the
'' most secure. Let us wait till count Eve-
*' raid's dispute with the imperial citfes be-

}56^ HERMAN

''terminated. It cannot be Tong. He will
"- then letire to his country seat, and will
*' have leiasuie to enjoy, with tranquiiiity,
'' the pleasing surprise I am preparing for
'' him. I v/ill set ofF with Ida. I will carrv
'' with me all the proofs of her birth. I
'' will present myseU"^ before him, and say,
'' ' my lord, this is your daughter^ Such
*' and such reasons induced us to take her
" a^va/ from you. Vve Iiave been guilty of
'' a fault: but consider the person vve jceitore
''to yon. That litlie infant, feeble and
" sickly, what would have become of her, in
" the melancholy situation in which you then
■" were? Wc bring her to you, healthy,

" beautiful, and accomplished.' What

*' think yon, Maria? will not Ida's appear-
^' ance ensure our pardon?"

" Our pardon indeed ! for what in rea- .
^^ lity ought to obtain us thanks. But what I
*' signifies disputing about what has, or whatij
" might have happened, when we know
" what will in reality take place. Ida is go-
•" ing to live at couit. If Herman, though'
J' separated fcomher, retain his fidelity, he will,

OF UNNA. 151

^' find her there. If he do not, her beauty
*' will attract other admirers, and place her
'' in a rank suitable to her descent, without
*' our going to humble ourselves before
*' count Everard."

'•'• Maria, Maria," cried Munster, looking
stedfastly in her face: '' from your- word?,
*' a painful gleam of light flashes on my
" mind. Is it possible, that you can have
*' had any concern in an event that so much
'' afflicts me? Is it possible, you can have
•*' prucured, by female artifice, Ida's remo-
■*' val to court."

••' And supposing I have ; what mighty

' *^ crime would it be'r"

These words produced farther interroga-

; tions ; these interrogations the open avowal

I of every step she had taken to procure the
success of her project; and this a\'Ovval, sucli
a quarrel, as had never taken place since
their marriage. It was a long time before
Mrs. Munster could, by her tears, her pray-
ers, and a true or feigned penitence, make

(any impression on her irritated husband;
and all she effected at kiSl, was the conver-

152 HERMAN

sion of his rage into bitter reproaches, and]
remonstrances on the probable effects of
her inconsiderate conduct.

*' I know not," said he, " whether yon:
** have been imprudent enough to excite any
*' suspicion concerning the birth of this!
*' young woman : but this lean tell you, that
'' she never will be regarded as what she is',
** unless her father publicly acknowledge heri
'* for his daughter. On the other hand, if;
*' she appear at court, as a simple citizen*
'' daughter, neither her beauty, nor her vir*
*' tue, will preserve her from hatred and
^^ calumny ; and even should the empress be
'^ desirous of protecting her, she will always
*' be despised; till at last, the jealousy of
■** her companions will drive her from a situ-
** ation in which you have placed her,
^^ without being able to maintain her in it.
^* The corrupt manners of the court of
*' Winceslaus will be injurious both to her
*' innocence, and her reputation. And
'* know, that your folly will receive a speedy
'' and severe punishment: you will not long
*' <njoy the pleasure of seeing your idol, or,

OF UNNA. 153

** at least, you will not be the immediate
(** spectator of what you term her happiness.
" It is currently reported, that the emperor
■** is about to make a tour into Westphalia;
'^the empress is to accompany him; and
^' Ida will certainly not remain at Prague;
'* unless she shall, before that, have finish-
^^ ed her brilliant career, and be returned to
' us vilified and despised, which is far from
!^^ improbable."

Ii4 HERMAN

CHAPTER XIV.

MRS. MUNSTER shed a torrent oV
tears. Her husband was in the right: the
last part of his remonstrance was w^hat
affected her most. To be deprived of the
pleasure of seeing Ida, would indeed be a
punishment! She wished to be able to
undo ail she had taken such pains to accom-
plish, were it only that she might not be
separated from her whom she loved more
than all the world beside. But her regret
was useless ; the wish was too late : that
very evening the empress sent for Ida, and i
she was informed, that she must quit her
father's house immediately ^to reside at
court.

She had always considered the hints of
her mother respecting- some future change
of situation as a jest. Her surprise, there-
fore, was extreme, when she received an
order so little expected, themotive of which
she could not conceive, and which she
knew not whether to regard as a matter of

OF UNNA, 155

joy or of sorrow. She felt that she was not

born for the station in which she had

hitherto lived ; yet there were things in it

which she could not quit without regret.

She must renounce the tranquility to which

she was so much attached, a tranquility

so suitable to her disposition, to encounter

the hurry and bustle of the great world:

she must abandon the house of her parents,

to take up her abode amongst strangers,

Munster saw her irresolution, and pitied

her. Her supposed mother pressed her to

her bosom, as she spoke to her of hap-

j piness, of fortune, and a hundred things

beside, which Ida could not comprehend,

zs it was not judged proper to give her the.

i least hint of what concerned her so nearly.

I Mrs. Munster, perhaps, would willingly

i liave disclosed to her, at this moment, all

I the secrets of her heart; but her husband

j had peremptorily forbidden her; and in

that, at least, she could not refuse obe-

, dience, after the many steps she had taken

without his permission. — '* The knov.dedge

'* of her birth," said he, "■ will be of no

H

156 BERMAT^

" service to her; whereas, if she remain
*' ignorant of it, her modesty, her iiino-
" cence, her reserve will be more secure;
'* a point of the utmost importance in the
V-, dangerous career she is about to .enter.
■ *" I could wish also, that she may remain
" persuaded she is sent for to court with-
'* out any solicitation having been made for
** the favour: it may inspire her with a
"• kind of pride, that will make her anxious
*^ not to forfeit the good opinion which she
**^ supposes to have been formed of her.
*' It may happen too, my dear Maria,**
said he, softening -the asperity of the reflec-
tion by a gentleness of manner, '' that at
** some future period she may not think
*' herself obliged to you for the imprudence
"- of having purchased her so dangerous a
''^ post, and I imagine you have no wish to
**;srak in the esteem of so virtuous a cha-'
-' racter."

Munster spoke like an oracle; and for
this time his wife listened to his advice.
The: young lady departed, after having re-
c.eiveda variety of good lessons, the prin-

OF UNNA. 157

cipal of which consisted in recommending
to her to follow, on all occasions, the native
impulse of her own honest and virtuous
heart, and in cases of difficulty, to consult
l:ier parents : for the good old citizen had
some faith in the proverb, which says, "• he
*' that goes on straight will never lose his
■i.t)way." iU 'i>'^

Our history does not describe the tmn-
ner in which Ida was received at court: it
^ays only, that the empress, for whom she
felt so great attachment, gave her by no
means so flattering a reception, as when she
saw her, for tlie first time, on the dap ef
All Saints. ■ H rrvf

Though Sophia's residence at court had
not been long, yet it was impossible to per-
ceive in her the slightest trace of that inex-
perie4iced young princess, who, when step-
ping at once from her convent into the
greatand dazzling world, received impres-
sions the most lively from every new object,
and was ignorant of the art of concealing
what she felt. Besides, the princess of
Ratibor had instilled into her a certain

H2

158 HERMAN

respect for her own dignity ; which dimi-
nished the affability she naturally posses ed,
and gave her at length a less engaging,
though a more stately demeanour. No
one, however, was more amiable to those
who pleased her. Ida had this good for-
tune formerly ; but the impression had
since been completely effaced ; and the
finpress beheld nothing in her now, but a
statuary's daughter, who affected to be more
handsome and more attractive, than befitted
her station. Beside, the character of Ida
fcad-sunk on another account in the opinion
of Sophia. Winceslaus, in his usual man-
ner, had told the empress with an aUihori-
tativc tone, that it was his desire Ida miglit
be admitted intt> the number of the ladies
of her court. Sophia, as frequently -hap-
pened, asked the cause of this preferment,
and the emperor took special car6 not to
^ay, because her mother has given me two
^iiundred and fifty crowns of gold; but
coldly assigned for reason his own will and
the young woman's beauty. • To this de-
;claration Sophia answered only by hex

..OF!.UNfNA. 159

silence; and the governess of the house-
hold, by a look of disdain, as she turned her
face towards the empress.

'' Must I compliment your majesty on
*' the brilliant acquisition you have just
*' made?" said the princess of Ratibor to
Sophia, as soon as they were alone. — The
empress was silent. — ^' Really," continued
,-the princess, '\if the daughters of plebeians
:^ are to be admitted amongst our young
'• ladies of quality, our court will soon
'* become an admirable pattern for others.
'' However, there is no effect without a
'' cause : they say this Munster's daughter
>' is handsome, and Susanna grows uglier
*' every day: now, a . trifling exdiange
'' ought of course to be allowable in the vir-
'-'■ tuous chief of the German empire."

It will be presumed, from this speech,
that the governess of the household was
permitted to talk with great freedom to
Sophia: in fact, being the sole confident of
the unfortunate wife of Winceslaus, she had
liberty to say whatever she pleased. She
continued, therefore, her malicious dis-

H3

160 HERMAN

course, in terins so adroitly chosen to irri-
tate the empress's mind, that we need not
wonder at the reception of Ida.

The daughter of Munster was not long
in perceiving, that she must here learn to
bear looks to which she had never been
accustomed: but she endeavoured to per-
suade herself, that it was the style of the
court; a«d her modesty led her to ascribe
solely to her want of birth the little affronts
she received, and from which she found her
companions exempt. This did not prevent
her from sometimes asking herself, why, if
she were not to be treated with greater kind-
ness, she had been drawn from her original
obscurity. Yet her native candour alwr/^
concluded with making her excuse the iil^
treatment she experienced, aiKi endeavofttt
to bear it with patience. '^ '''^'^ '"'-^ ^'
\ Though no one seemed to notice tfefe
citizen's daughter, every eye was fixed up<m
her. The men whispered to one another:
*''■ How handsome, how beautiful she is!"
While the women sought to find defects in
htt ivho ^hzd been iiltroduced into their
circle, in violation of established usage.

OF ,U^NA. 161

Amongst all the ladies of the court,
however, there was not one who observed
her with so much attention as the princess
of Ratibor. She assiduously watched for
^Qmc favourable cirx:umstance, that might
serve to confirm the opinion she had instill-
ed into Sophia. Fruitless assiduity! The
young Munster, 2S she was called in deri-
sion, conducted herself in a mann^ so irre-
proachable, that she had no reason to fear
having the. whole universe to witness her
actions. She executed the duties of her
Tpffice with the strictest propriety, spent her
leisure hours in her apartment with her
atteqdant, visited her parents on those days
}vhen she was permitted so to do, and be-
haved with so much prudence when there
was a ball or entertainment at the palace,
that the most envenomed malignity could
find no unguarded place against which to
direct its arrows. To this may be added,
that the emperor paid not the smallest at-
tention to her, which totally overthrew the
disadvantageous ideas, which the princess
of Ratibor had v/ished Sophia to conceive of

H4

162 HERXfAN^ '

her. ^/inceslaus, as 'xvef'lTaVe teerj," Was no
T/oman-hater: but the line of beauty that
captivated him was not of that dignified spe-
cies that adorned the young Munstef .' T/he
charms of Susanna, were the 'model ixids't
-suited to his taste/' '

The governess of the household, finding
])erself baffled in her attempts, to lay hold
of the conduct of our young damsel, was
compelled to be silent. , Sophia, therefore,
heard no longer any thing spoken to tf^S
prejudice; and, seeing her daily adorned
with every grace, she felt lier affection for
her imperceptibly revive. Ida was infinife-
]y superior to the rest of the maids of hondfV
whom her modesty wbiild not suffer hel^'ft?
stile her companions; yet, who appeared
by her side, in spite of their haughty and
contemptuous carriage, no better than het^
servants. Tliese young ladies took infirriVe^
paiiis to outvie each other, and to catch a
passinglook or a smile from their princess, a
circumstance which contributed not a little
to place them in an unfavourable point of
view, when compared with the artless sim-
plicity of the charming Munster.

OF UNNA. 163

At first it was much for the daughter of
a plebeian not to be treated with disdain
by her mistress; but on the contrary, to be
viewed with some degree of complacency.
And now nothing was wanting but some
lucky incident to change this disposition
into kindness.

One day Sophia's time hung heavily oa
her hands; a circumstance it may be pre-
sumed, which frequently happens to great
princesses. We are not informed how she
spent those moments in which she experi-
enced not this distressing sensation: but. on
the day of which we are speaking, all the
ordinary subjects of conversation had been
exhausted. There was nothing new to say
on the subject of Susanna; for the emperor,
hoping that his wife would soon make him a
father, had consented to remove his mis-
tress for a time, by sending.her to Conrads-
bourg : and no one durst venture to give
the empress any fresh cause of discontent^-
before the tottering throne of Winceslaus
was established by an heir.

164 HERMAN-

^.nii Gn^ the evening ef this day, theenipress I
RGt knowing how to dispel the wearisome^ !
ness she felt, bethought herself of assem-
bling all the ladies of the court, and pro-
posing a prize for her who could invent any
means of making the time seem les.tedious.

Instantly every body^ was in moiion. —
All were desirous of giving proof of their
ability. Singers, dancers, and story-tellers,.
presented themselves: but, vain all their
efforts! either they performed their part&
ill, or the demon of languor, that torment-
ed Sophia, was so stubborn, that he appear-
ed determined not to be vanquished. —
•* Ah, cease^ cease!" cried Sophia : ''^ what
*' unmusical sounds! what barbarous steps!
*^ what drousy homilies! how unfortunate I
*^ am, to have nothing but such untoward
*' creatures about m€r''^v£.yh icx X

** Let not your majesty despair:" said
the malicious princess of Ratibor:" '^ have
** we not young Munster? Look where she
'^ stands, as idle and unconcerned as if she
'* had nothing to do with the service of the
** empress: yet, no doubt, she is capable of

OF UNNA. 165

eV*: eclipsing, by her talents, all the young
*^ ladies of the court. Come forward,
*' miss :" continued she, in a toneof disdain:
" Speak ; what talents have you with which
*' to amuse the empress? You are not to
<*> suppose, that a place like yours is to be
'-*^ filled by a person that is good for nothing."
Unquestionably the design of the artful
Ratibor was so to abash the innocent Ida,
by this unexpected invitation, delivered too
in such a style, that it would be impossible
for her to display any talents she might pos-
sess. But her expectations were baulked.
— ''I play on the harp:'* answered Ida,
bowingi '' and 1 would long since have
h gone for my instrument, if I had dared
f' to touch its strings before persons so much
*' better skilled, or if I could have hoped."
'' O, for Heaven's sake, fetch it, child,*'
exclaimed Sophia, interrupting her : ^' I doat
"on the harp!" Ida withdrew, and the
princess of Ratibor seized that opportunity
to acquaint the empress, that she was just
going to take her daughter from theconvent,-
and she had been assuredtba;t shejplayed in
a very superior style on the harp.

166 HERMAN!

Ida soon entered with her instrument;
placed herself opposite Sophia, played a
short prelude, that announced a consum-
mate mistress in the art, and then began —
God of harmony, didst thou inspir^.^J^ffi
with the thought?— That very song, wWcli.
made so profound an impression on tlie em-
press the day of her nuptials.

Sophia scarcely breathed. Her eyes were
fixed on the inchanting musician, who,
standing before her, seemed to behold nQ-.
thing but the strings of the harp, unless
when occasionally her fine eyes were turned
on the empress to give more ex press ion, t^:^
hex words. Young Munster had finishjed
her song, and Sophia yet gazed on her with
rapture, as if she still heard the melpdioqs
notes, vv'hen, approaching her mistress;, -a i"i4
dropping on one knee, she tppk from^;l>^-|
head her coronet of flowers, and Iai<i it af
the empress's feet, conform^l:)ly,tQ,t,iie:]wjprds

f,^ ,-r-r.

m ^ o.'

of the song. ■ .

''Divine, enchantinggirl!" cried Sophia j
at the same time throwing her arm round
the neck of Ida, and embracing heri.yijj-iiai ,

or UNNA; 167

!* .'^sensations have : you awake ned in- my
M, breast! — :— -Rise Toy child," continued'
she, after a moment's silence, and perceiv-
ing the ecrutinizing- eyes of the princess of
Ratibor fixdd oh^'lierr**'risfevy^uhave play-
ed and sung exceliently.- ''The look and
voice of the empress in pronouncing thes^
words, did not express the same affectioii
wifh which she embraced her. Ida, how-
ever, took courage to kiss her hand which
she held out to her, and then withdrew to
a distant part of the room. -"■■ -■'^'

Had young Munster possessed the prd--
roundest knowledge of the human hearty
she could not liave selected any thing better
calculated to gain that of the empress, than
!he piece which she sung. The sensations
6f Sophia on her wedding-day, when the
young women niade their appearance, must
have been extremely deliciotis,' for thebarc
temembrance of it- to be capable of giving
lier so much pleasure. But this is by no
means extiaordinary. Who is there, that
has not imagined, when some pa^t event of
his life has been-T^eca^kd to^his-mefh'ory bly

/16B ^HERMAN

certain sounds, or appearances, that he has
felt anew what he felt before ; and if the
sensation be pleasurable, the person who
recalls it excites irresistibly our affection.

Sophia had risen from her seat, and was
wiping the tears from her eyes at a windowjk
The young ladies examined, with envious
looks, the too interesting Ida, who rested
tranquilly on her harp. The mistresa of
the robes then remarked, that it was late ;
and her majesty having need of repose, that
the ladies might withdraw, Sophia gave a.
nod of approbation, and they retired*

■>Tq sd)

■3xi:Liiij

OF UNNA. 169

CHAPTER XV.

THE princess of Ratibor would undoubt-
edly have been pleased if our young musi-
cian had been overcome with the honor of
playing before an empress, as hath happened
to many a musical performer at other courts,
and had been obliged to withdraw before she
had touched a string of the instrument : but
either it was more easy to play on the harp
before the empress of Bohemia, than before
any other potentate, or Ida was too secure
of her abilities, and too much accustomed
to the presence of a sovereign, to be in danger
of fainting. Thus she left the imperial
apartment v/ith her usual tranquillity.

*' What a tiresome frigid creature that
** girl is!" said the princess of Ratibor, when
she found herself alone with the empress :
'' any one else would have been intoxicated
*' with so many marks of kindness,- but she."

'* I observed her eyes filled with tears .'^

*' Q yes ; slie can weep ! -"

170 HERMAN

. ''I beg, Ratibor," said Sophia coldly^-'f
and interruptiDg her, '' that you wiil not
** thus strive to embitter every thin^ that
*V gives ine pleasure."

A declaration Lke this would have been
sufficient of itself to exasperate to the high-
est pitch the malice of Ida's enemy I but,a^j
circumstance happened the next day which
Vv'as still more provoking.

Ida had been called intO: Sophias chain- ,
ber;^^*' Dear Munster" said the empress ta^,
her, *' you made me yesterday pass a de-
'' licious hour. While I listened to you, I
'^ forgot every thing else^ even the prize, I
'•had promised; a prize which you gained
*' wkb the utmost facility^ and which I still^i
" owe you. R-ccelvc,. then, this ribband»»;|l
** which attaches you: more particularly to
*' my service;" adding, with a smile, '* for
*-' you know, 1 must not offer you jevvels,..
'' you have already refused them."

This present was a blue velvet ribband, .
whicli was \vorn across the body from right ^ '
to left,, fastened on the shoulder with a large
silk-.bowv and only given to young ladies o:

OF UNNA. 171

tr>e Hrst distinctioli at court." Ida received
it on her knees, and the princess of Ratibor
was ordered to decorate her with it.

Young Munster's astonishment was ex-
treiti^ : "such excessive krndness rendered
her&peecir]ess;-yet we may venture to a.ffirm
•that, she WHS far from feeing all it's possible
consequences as clearly as the princess of
Ratibor. She was of that happy age when
the difference'does not appear great between
a ribliand of honor, a simple knot for the hair,
or a rose fresh gathered, as they all serve
equally for ornament. THe present of So-
phia, however^^^bcre a superior value in- the
«ytrs of -Jd^i becatise of the hand that bestow-
ed it; and •she' expressed the warmest gra-
titude. The -'princess of Ratibor looked,
on this occasion, much as did tlie Per-
sian courtier of old, when obliged to attend
on the sage'Hebrew, and proclaim him the
man whom the king delighted to honor; at
last, however, her disdainful countenance
assumed a certain malicious smile, impossi-"
ble to have been deciphered by a girl so in^.
nocent and unexperienced as Ida* Having

172 HERMAN

thanked the empress, Ida made a graceful'
obeisance to the princess of Ratibor, who
deigned to honor her with an embrace.

'* That Manster," said the princess of,
Ratibor to Soplna, the instant Ida departed^
" is a charming creature, it must be owned;
" what a pity that she is the daughter of a
'* plebeian ? '

The eyes of all the maids of honor were
enviously fixed on Ida's blue ribband. With
regret they saw her wear a badge of lioiior
granted only to three or four of them., ♦^t^
this the young favourite did not perceive r
she accosted them with her usual affability^.
without appearing in the least vain of. the
distinction she had received ; andexpected
with impatience the evening, when she would ,
Lave permission to visit her parents, S.he,j
longed to show herself to them with her new
decoration, sure that her mother at least
would be delighted.

She conjectured rightly: her motheM,
alone was rejoiced. Munster looked at her
with a troubled and pensive countenance^,^
and renewed his exhortations to her to be i

OF UNNA. 173

ys watchful over herself, and faithful to
ftie engagements into which she had entered.

From the day that Ida received this first
rhark of her sovereign's favour, she appeared
l6 be every moment treated with more
isteem. She was called more frequently
' than her companions into the presence of
•Sophia, who liked better to be waited on by
her than any one else. Not an evening
passed without her being obliged to repair
with her harp to tlie empresses closet, and
exercise her talents to amuse her mistress*..
* Was she more happy on this account? She
endeavoured at least to persuade herself
, BO, because she perceived herself necessary ta
I the happiness of another: but at bottom, in
I consequence of the continual restraint in which
she lived, she regretted those tranquil mo-
ments she before enjoyed in lier own apart-
ment, the many delightful evenings she
spent with her parents, and the time when^
she had leisure to trace in imagination some
post events of her life. These innocent:
pleasures became daily more rare.

:H HERMAN

Tli^ favour she enjoyed with the : em-
press, uhom sb.e now scarcely .ever c^itteHJ
prevented her not from experiencing a
thousand little disagreeable circumstanceii
Saphia was not always chearful; and did
not always, when she spoke to her, call het,
l]er dear Munster. crt,

Ida perceived herself incessantly th^
butt of the envenomed shafts of calumnp
At one time it Vv'as said, that she had beeni
seen in places, in which it became not thji
empress's maids of honor to appear; .all
another, that she had laughed at churchi
now she was accused of having spoken dis-
respectfully of some lady at court; then, c^
having talked too freely with some youd||
nobleman' at a ball. But the innocence of^
her, of whom these tales were told to Sophia^;
so completely destroyed their effect, thoti
she w^s seldom influenced by them raoDt)
than a few minutes; and her attacharenttiiJ
young Munster generally increased aftdr
these. transient clouds of displeasure. Dii*
ring their continuance the governess of tie
household was seen to smile more graciously
on Sophia than ever.

OF UNKA. 175

The* princess of Ratibor had hoped, that
(Ida would experience the common fate of
iithose wlio breathe the air of courts, namely,
[that her credit would sink as speedily as it
[had been raised, and by means as simple.
Finding herself mistaken, she reckoned on
another expedient, which she deemed infal-
lible. This consisted in the introduction
of a new person at court. Novelty has so
many attractions that it makes us easily for-
get what we have long had in possession,
and Ida had now been "the favourite of
Sophia for nearly a month.
-I.. The young Imago, daughter of the
^IncessofRatiborv/as the expected flranger.
^hehad been educated in a convent; won-
ders were reputed of lier; and her too
Credidpus mother let slip no opportunity of
aeunding her praise, and repeating what u'as
wrilten of her by the nuns. Shetriumphed
beforehand at the idea of shortly seeing this
idfetested Munster eclipsed by her daughter:
'sfi-'metimes, indeed, a victory over a girl cf
■So litlie importance seemed to her too

Ififling, and she endeav^cur.ed to find-scms

1373 UEfilfiidqoti a.

176 HERMAN

means of obtaining more signal satisfaction
for the affronts she had occassioned her. .^>
Imago appeared ; and, as the impression
she made on her mother was not very ex-
traordinary, it is easy to guess what effect-
5he produced on other less interested spec-
tators. She was presented, and very well
received. Immediately was given her, oil
account of her rank, the blue ribband, whiclx
Ida obtained only as a recompence for hec
services; and though she had expected more
particular marks of favour, she was obliged
to be contented with what she received, and
was left at full liberty to join her new com-
panions, without once being inquired afcer
during the rest of the evening. The next
day, however, there was much talk at court
of the young princess of Ratibor, She was
said to be handsome, and it was added,
that she appeared to be of an amiable dispo-^
sition. Her good qualities were so much in-
sisted on, and her praises repeated with
such ostentation, tliat instead of persuading
people of her merit, it only excited doubt;
and of consequence the scheme produced'
no effect.

Ol^rUNNA, 111

The princess of Ratibor had thus the
mortification to find her projects once more
abortive, and she soon lost all desire of con-
tinuing Imago in the service of the empress,
where she had'the terrible misfortune beside
of having for a companion the daugh.ter of
ai citizen. Her mother then thought of
marrying her. Imago was not ugly ; her
Darents could give her a considerable for-
tune, and Ratibor hoped, that, with the
assistance of some artful coadjutors, she
might effect her marriage with a young
Itahan prince who was expected at court.
Meanwhile, that the time might not be
thrown away, she set herself to examine the
talents of Imago, in order to judge whether
they Vv'ere superior to her beauty. S!ie
found that they might suhice, perhaps to
shine in a convent, but that in the world
they would be estimated at a very low rate.
Of the tilings she had acquired, some were
.necessary to be unlearned ; others, to be of
any value, had great need of improvement;
and she wanted many of tliose agreeable
^kius which cannot be dispensed v/ith in

178 HERMAN

good company, so that her education was
actually to begin again. Thus, to be able
to figure without disgrace, in a circle of any
politer^ess, this poor young creature was
obliged to betake her herself anew to her
studies, which s!ie imagined she had re-
linquished for ever. Her gaiefy, which
perhaps would have rendered her amiable,
was destroyed by this constraint : at home
she was fretful and passionate ; at court she
was absent; and in a little time jealousy,
uniting with her useless endeavours to ac-
quire perfection, rendered her, who might
have been agreeable, had she not attempted
to go beyond her sphere, the most insup-
portable being in the Vv^orld.

The princess of Ratibor observed thi-s
with regret : she trembled when any one
looked at, or conversed with her daughter,
and sedulously avoided every occasion of
recalling to mind the talents of Imago, of j
which she had formerly boasted. One day,
however, .shortly after imago's appearance 1
at court, the conversation turned on music, !
and particularly on the harp. Sophia then i

OF UNNA. 179

recollecting, that the skill of Imago on that
instrument had once been brought into com-
parison with the exquisite performance of
Ida, desired a specimen of her talents. The
young musicians were obliged to play in
competition; and the comparison was so
much to the disadvantage of Imago, that
the mother was vexed at her former gas-
conade, and could only offer in excuse, that
so insignificant an accomplishment was un-
worthv the study of a princess, and suited
only a person who perhaps intended to
make it her profession.

Ida was extremely mortified, not only
at the suggestion, that she designed to em-
brace the occupation of a musician, an oc-
cupation held in those days in disrepute;
but also at having been the unwilling instru-
ment of humbling a young perfon by whom
she had never been offended. On seeing
the young Munster with her eyes cast on
the ground, one might have supposed that
she w^as the vanquished party ; nor was it
possible for her to enjoy with cordiality the
applauses she received. This incident led
Vol. I. I

180 HERMAN

i

her to seek less than ever to exhibit her
talents; and as Imago did not provoke her
to it, they lived on good terms together.

After the various artifices which the
princess of Ratibor had employed to crush
the young Munfter, it was reasonable to pre-
sume, from her known disposition, that she
had conceived against Ida the most m-T
veterate hatred : but the reverse appeared
in her conduct. She seemed entirely de-
voted to her, engaged her daughter in con-
versation with her, invited her sometimes
to dinner at her house, and at length re-
quested her to give Imago some lessons on
the harp; a request with which she com-
plied as readily, as she refused with firmness
a very handsome present offered her on that
account.

Thus Ida spent as much of her time at
Ratibor house, as her duty at court would
permit. She exerted herself to improve
the talents of Imago, endeavoured some-
times to correct her temper, and sought to
inspire her with sentiments suitable to her
rank. But every block of marble is not

OF UNNA. 181

calculated for the statue of a god. Imago
remained as she was, and gave Ida to un-
derstand, that she had much rather see her
as a friend than as instructress.

A close intimacy was soon formed be-
tween the two young women. There were
moments when the difference of their rank
was entirely forgotten : they walked, they
played, they bathed together, and it some-
times happened that they slept in the same
bed. Mrs. Manster was delighted with a
-connexion so honourable, when Ida men-
tioned it in one of her visits to her parents ;
but her husband shook his head, and recited
the fable of the earthen vessel and the brass

pot, which he had learned of a monk.

*' Familiarities of this kind," said he, ''have
'*' some concealed motive. We are led
'' ingenuously to disclose our thoughts, and
'* have afterwards frequently reason to re-
'' pent it. I am much mistaken, if the
'' princess have not already made some
*' attempt to learn your little secrets."

'' Secrets, my dear father!" said Ida,
laughing ; '' I have none."

I 2

182 HERMAN

Munster held up his finger, and named
Herman.

'' It is true," replied Ida, with a blush,
*' Imago has sometimes bantered me on that
** name; and I mufl certainly have uttered
'' it in a dream, for awake it has never
^* escaped my lips."

" I would not have you mention it
'' either sleeping or waking," said Munfter,
who could not help smiling at the simplicity
of her answer.

^' I remember, however :" said Ida : " a
*' trick which the princess played me, and
'* with v/hich I was not at all pleased. You
^*' know the present which the empress made
*' me of a lock of her hair. Since I have
** resided at court, I have avoided wearing
*' it publicly, as such an ornament would
*^ have occasioned too much talk : but I
'* esteem that early pledge of my sovereign's
*' favour a thousand times more than the
*' most costly jewels, and it is never out of
" my bosom, except when I bathe. On one
" of these occasions, the princess took it from
*' me secretly: I missed it: a little quarrelarose

OF UNNA. 183

*' between us : she would not confess the
'' theft : at last I perceived the gold network
*' hanging from her neck, and I pulled it
"■ out of her bosom. Still she would not let
'' it go, but held it in play, till 1 had related
'* the manner of my obtaining it. She
" seemed to me to have been already in-
*' formed of this event by her mother, who,
*' as I remembered was present ,- and she
'•^ was particularly pressing to know what I
** intended to do with such a singular orna-
"• ment. Upon this I laughed, and turned
*' the matter into a jeO:. I believe, an-
'' swered I, that as long as I fhall wear a
*' part of the empress next my heart, fhe
*' will always continue to love me."

'' A very extraordinary answer," replied
Munster, fhaking his head. "• Be prudent
♦* my child, and avoid too great famiharity
'' v;ith persons who, I have no doubt, mean
'' you ill/'

184 HERMAN

CHAPTER XVL

THE prince, whom the mother of Imago
had in view for^her daughter, at length ar-
rived at Prague. He was a wealthy lord, of
great expectations, of the house of Visconti.
Many steps had already been taken : he had
been told of Imago's beauty, with the usual
exaggerations; but in all probability he made
a deeper impression upon her, than fheupon
liimT for he saw her by the side of Ida. Who
indeed, in presence of the latter, could have
any hopes of making a conqueR? and parti-
cularly the princess of Ratibcr, who was in-
ferior to the generality of young women who
liad any pretensions to beauty. Accord-
ingly the eyes of the prince were turned in-
cessantly towards Ida. In vain was he assidu-
ously informed of her want of birth. In
spite of this circumstance, his intended could
v/ith difficulty obtain from him a few care-
less glances, while he gazed on young Mun-
ster with such rapture, that she was discon-
certed, and obliged to retire.

OF UN N A. 185

From that moment flie was no lon2:er in-
vlted to Ratibor house; and Imago seemed
not to know her former friend, when she
met her at court. The prince repeated his
visits, but Vv'ithout finding her whom he
sought. At length he saw her at court, and
was as little cautious to conceal the impres-
sion she had made on him, as the firft time
he beheld her. To no purpose was he again
told^ that this extraordinary girl was no other
than Ida Munster: the name did not appear
to operate on him the effect that was expected.
He continued to admire her and sought op-
portunities of speaking to lier. In this how-
ever, he succeeded net. Ida carefully avoid-
ed him, for i^as had remarked the passion
with which (lie hsd inspired him, and was
resolved not to liflen to the proposals of a
prince, to the injury of her friend, and the
disparagement of Jierman. The young
Italian remained no longer at Prague than
WAS necessary to convince him, that he had
nothing to hope from her whom he loved.
At his departure he neglected even taking
leave of the princess of Ratibor ; and he

I 4

186 HERMAN

thought not for a moment during his resi-
dence at the court of Winceslaus, of the
honor intended him, by marrying him there.

Thus the simple ImagQ,'and her haughty
mother, once more saw their hopes disap-
pointed. They had carried matters so far,
as already to have received the congratula-
tions of the court on the projected match,
which augmented their humiliation on find-
ing it broken off.

All the disgrace of this failure was thrown
on the innocent Ida, who was no otherwise
to blame, than in possessing more beauty
than Imago, and the majority of her com-
panions. Ratibor and her daughter could
now scarcely conceal the rage with which
they Vv'ere inflamed ; and Ida would have
been terrified to death, could suspicion have
entered into her heart, pure and exempt as
it v\\as from treachery.

They, whom she supposed to be her
parents, felt very differently on this subject.
Both were persuaded, that it would be im-
prudent to instill fear into her mind ; but
her perilous situation was often the subject

OF UNNA. 187

of their discourse till midnight, and they
each separately took in secret, the steps they
conceived most proper to secure the hfe and
honor of her who was so dear to them.

Mrs. Munster was much more alarmed on
this occasion than her husband. She had a very
bad opinion of the prince of Ratibor, and all
his illustrious house; and she related a hun-
dred ins'.ances, one more terrible than ano-
ther, in order to shew, that they who had
the misfortune to displease any of the family,
frequently disappeared on a sudden, without
any person knowing what became of them.
Might not the unfortunate Ida experience
the same fate? And, in a danger so imminent,
what could remove the apprehensions of a
nurse, who had for her the sentiments of
the tenderest mother?

Probably many of the stories which so
much disquieted Mrs. Munster, weie of the.
nature of fairy tales, which were firmly be-
lieved in the days of which v/e are writing.
But alas! the terrible phantoms of the ima-
gination, have over weak minds » as much
sway as realities; with this advantage onu

' I 3

188 HERMAN

their side, that the means, commonly chosen
to combat them, are calculated rather to
augment than diminish the terror they occa-
sion. The anxiety of Munster and his wife,
was increased by a report that had prevailed,
and which was shortly confirmed from the
mouth of Ida, that the emperor's journey
into Westphaha, which had been long talked
of, was soon to take place, and consequently
Ida, if she followed the court, would be ex-
posed incessantly, and without resource, to
the mahce of her enemy.

The iirfl thought of Munster, when he
heard this news, was to take home his sup-
posed daughter. To this his wife heartily con-
sented; and Ida, who had never any other
will, than the will of those whom she believ-
ed to be her parents, made no oppofition.

It was proposed to the empress ; but the
empress was now so ftrongly attached to her
charming attendant, that it was impossible to
ihink cf a separation ; and the request of
Munster, which he made in person, was flatly
refused'. ... ** I thank you, good old gen-
** tleman, for having left me your daugliter

OF UNNA. 189

'' so long:" said Sophia, with her wonted
affability : '^ but if you take her from now,
*' I shall scarcely be obliged to you for the
*' past; since the time draws nigh, when her
''^ affedionate cares and charming vivacity
'••will be indispensable; when I (hall doubly
'* want her enchanting conversation, and her
'' skill on the harp, to drive from me the
" genius of melancholy. Befides, you will
'* deprivejier uf the honour of singing to
^' your future prince, the firfl song he will
*' hear in his cradle."

This was attacking old Munster on his
weak fide. He found, that it was in vain ta^
think of Ida's return ; and, as nothing could
remove his uneasiness, if he did not hear of
her every day, he formed a resolution, of
which we Inall hereafter have occasion ta
speak, wliile his wife secretly took another..
In fact, she employed the two hundred gold
crowns, the remains of their buried treasure^^
in the execution of a scheme she had formed,
and she delayed not taking the necessar)C
ileps with her usual precipitancy,-

190 HERMAN

The' day fixed for the emperor's depar-
ture arrived : but certain events happened,
unconnected with our history, that obhged
him to remain some time longer at Prague,
and to let the empress depart without him.*'

The persons who were to accompany
the empress, were assembled in the audience
chamber to take leave, when a circumstance
occurred, that surprised every one, not ex-
cepting her whom it immediately concerned.
Winceslaus had already spoken to the per-
sons of most importance in the suit of the
empress, and those of less consequence
were, according to custom, to receive only
a general mark of notice, when Ida, who
was at that time amongst the crowd, was or-
dered to be called to him.

'' Are you Ida Munster?" asked he.

Being answered in the affirmative, a
private secretary, on a motion from the em-
peror, put into her hands a large parchment
patent, from which hung the imperial seal.
Ida blufhed, and appeared disconcerted.

* The matlves of this journey seem to be in general
very obscure; nor can we find any satisfactory account Of
h in contemporary historians.

OF UNNA. 191

*^ Iris impossible, said Winceslaus, that
*' the favour I grant you, should appear
" more extraordinary to you, than it does
'' to myself: but one of my subjects has
*' thought fit to solicit it, and I love them
*' too well, to refuse to the humblest of
'* them, any thing that is practicable. Go:
*' and be assured of my protection."

Ida retired with amazement. Every
body crowded round her, eager to know the
contents of this mysterious patent: but fhe
ran with it to the empress, who gave it to a
chamberlain to read, which he did, to the
whole assembled court. The following
were its contents:

** We, Winceslaus, &c. take thee, Ida
" Munster, under our imperial protection ;
** and hereby declare all those responsible
** for thy life and honor^ on whom shall
*' fall the least suspicionof having attempted
'* them. Moreover we grant thee the pri-
*' vilege of not being condemned to death,
" but by ourself in person, and of not be-
•' ing arraigned for any misdemeanor, ex-
^ cept before our own immediate tribunal.

192^ HERMAN

*' or those deputed to hold our place in the
" criminal court," &c.

Who does not perceive, in this proceed-
ing the affectionate precaution of Mrs.
Munster? she was desirous of omitting no-
thing for the security of her Ida, and in
consequence resolved to purchase her the
immediate protection of the emperor. Win-
ceslaus, always ready to grant what was
asked him in so becoming a manner, had
directed^ half-drunk perhaps, the immediate
execution of this^ patent, which could not
but appear mysterious to ail .the world, and
which proved more detrimental than useful
to her, for whom it was obtained.

The persons who v;ere present at its. re-
cital, beheld young Munster with looks of
astonishment and contempt : and it was una-
nimously agreed, that.there' must be some-
thing extraordinary in her situation, for
such precaution to be necessary. In the com-
mon course of things, innocence, it was
isaid, needed no protector but itself: nor
did it appear that any injurious suspicions
had been entertained of Ida, or any inten-
tion of prosecuting her in any court,.

OF UNNA. 193

Young Munster was not the last to feel
that this singular protection had a very un-
favourable appearance. Without regarding,
therefore, what she heard whispered on all
sides, she approached the empress, and
asked her permission, humbly to return the
monarch the patent he had granted her.-
*' I ask no other security," added she,
'^ than that which every one has a right to
< '* expect under an equitable prince : I desire
*' no favours, but what I shall be found to
'' merit from the goodness of my mistress.'*

•'^ No, no," cried Sophia, who saw the
*' affair in a very different light from the
rest of those who were present: '' No, my
*' child, I will keep this instrument for you:
'-'- and, if it serve for nothing else, it will at
*' leail prove to your descendants, that you
" were an object worthy the particular pro-
" tection of your prince."

This adventure became a general sub-
ject of conversation, and arrived at the ears
of Munster, before Ida had an opportunity
of acquainting him with it. He readily
guessed at the author, and had a very serious

194 HERMAN

conversation with his wife, on the singular
means which her attachment for her daugh-
ter induced her to employ. Mrs. Munster
confessed, that she had solicited the em-
peror's protection for Ida: but declared at
the same time, that she had never thought
of asking a written assurance of his pro-
mise, and much less a security in the form
of a patent. Munster, who had seldom
found his wife in a lie, believed her, and
supposed the singularity to be of the num-
ber of those inconsiderate actions, that the
fumes of wine so often caused Winceslaus
to commit. For ourselves, we are inclined
to consider the circumstance rather as a trick
of dame fortune, who meant to produce
from it the most extraordinary adventures.

OF UNNA. 195

CHAPTER XVIL

IDA went to take leave of her parents.
Her mother burst into tears ; but her father
showed more firmness, and spoke of the
pleasure of soon seeing her again.

After affectionately bidding each other

adieu, they parted The reader will

pardon me if, in this part of my history, I
speak a little obscurely of time and place.
The want of sufficient documents mufl be
my excuse.

When the empress arrived at the end of
her journey, the time of her delivery ap-
proached. Sickness, or some other reason,
prevented the emperor from being present
at this grant event : but he had taken care,
that in his absence every thing should be
conducted in a manner suitable to the birth
of an heir to his throne. The Bohemians
complained that this ill-timed journey
would deprive them of the happiness of
hearing the firft cries of their future mo-
narch. By way of consolation, they were

196 HERMAN

permitted to send a deputation of the most '
considerable persons among them, to be-
present at the delivery of the empress, and-
assist at the baptism of their young.sovereign;-
for a prince it must be at all events. No
person beside Vvas invited to the ceremony,
except the duke of Bavaria, father of Sophia,
and the count of Wirtemberg, her godfather.
These noblemen, and the loyal Bohemian v
arrived at the day appomted; and every
thing was ready for celebrating the grand-
festival, but the principal personage, the-
heir of Winceslaus, on whos^ account it
wa§ made.

The wished for moment, however^
seemed daily to become more distant, the
empress was attacked with a severe distem-
per, that reduced her to the last extremity..
All the country put up prayers for her
recovery ; and at length she v/as delivered
of a dead daughter.

I know not whether in those days it war-
rare for sanguine expectations to be disap-
pointed, or whether princes at least, were
exempt from such a misfortune ; but certain.

OF UNNA. 197

it is, that this sad accident spread such
alarm, that one would have supposed no-
thing similar to it had ever happened on
the face of the earth. The persons who
interested themselves in the affair, and So-?
phia was so beloved by the people, that no
one was indifferent where she was concerned,
were divided chiefly into two parties. One
attempted to discover the presages of this
event, the other to conjecture what had.
been its cause, while few thought of the
consequences it might produce.

Theart of interpreting presages of futu-
rity, was then a prime article of faith f:
and he would have been in an aukward pre-
dicament, who should have ventured to-
contradict those who attributed to the still
born princess, all the comets and extraordi-
nary meteors that had been seen in the fir-
mament for ten years befor. They who^
set themselves to investigate the cause, of
what had disappointed the hopes of a whole
people, were still less disposed to be jested
with; and in her eyes it would have been a
crime but to suspect, that the misfortune was

198 HERMAN

owing to a long journey, undertaken in an
advanced state of pregnancy, the unskilful-
ness of the physicians, or the last fie of rage
into which the empress was thrown, when
she learnt, by letters from Prague, that Su-
sanna, whom she had been assured by
Winceslaus he had finally dismissed, had
again made her appearance, publicly filled
her place, occupied her apartments, and
framed projects on her approaching death,
which she tru^^ed would be the consequence
of her situation.

Reasons of this sort were too trivial in
the opinion of our sages. Their inquiries
went much farther. According to them,
nothing but sorcery could have operated
this event. It was necessary, that the arm
of justice should put a speedy stop to the
evil, that k might not extend farther, and
reach even the sacred person of Sophia,
who was still between life and death. All
the empress's houshold were imprisoned,
even to the princess of Ratibor, Ida alone
excepted. She was left undist^irbed in her
apartment, and had nothing to complain of,

OF UNNA. 199

-except that she was not permitted to attend
her beloved mistress, who every moment
called for her in vain, and declared, that,
without her dear Ida, she could neither live
nor die.

The examinations were taken with speed
and rigour before the duke of Bavaria, and
the count of Wirtemberg, who had been too
much habituated to the sufferings of others,
and were too good christians, to shew any
mercy in an affair of witchcraft. Strict,
however, as were the examinations, all the
ladies who had been taken up, were dis-
missed on the first interrogatory. Even
the princess of Ratibor, received not the
slightest reprimand, for having been so
negligent of the empress's safety, as to per-
mit the delivery of the letter, of which we
have spoken above. It was known that such
a letter had been received; it was known,
'-'that immediately on reading it, Sophia had
fallen into a S7*^oon, which was followed by
convulsions; and from that moment to her
delivery she had continued in extreme dan-
ger: but to this no attention was paid;

:200 HERMAN

they sought only to discover the superna-
tural means, which must have been employ-
ed to deprive Sophia and her infant of life;
and of these the ladies of the empress had
been found to be perfectly innocent,

Ida sincerely pitied her unfortunate
companions, for having incurred the slight-
est suspicion of a practice so detestable, in
which she, like the rest of her contempora-
ries, had the firmest belief. Such a suspi-
cion she thought she could not herself have
survived an instant. She considered her-
self happy to have been the only
one excepted; and hoped, that she
should soon be permitted to see her dear
mistress, when she learnt, that the princess
of Ratibor and the other ladies had been set!
at liberty, and were at present engaged
in their former employments about her'
person.

One m^orning as she was dressing, in or-
der to be ready if the empress sliould send
for her, one of her women entered with
looks of horror and despair, holding in her

•GF UNNA. 201

-liand a paper, which she seemed desirous of
giving her ; but scarcely iiad she taken two
steps in the room, when she tottered and fell
'Senseless on the floor. Ida ran to her
assistance, and perceived her name on the
paper, which lay on the ground. Curiosity
got the better of her compassion, and she
read what follows. But no, she read it not,
for at the second line she fell by the side of
lier servant.

Judge, reader, whether she had not rea-
son to despair.

*' Ida Munster ! sorceress! accused of
murder, of high treason! appear! We, the
-secret avengers of the Eternal, cite thee
within three days before the tribunal of
God! appear! appear!"

-" Good Heavens !" exclaimed Ida, when
by the assistance of her woman she vjrs
jbrought to herself: *' did I see clearly ? grve
*' me that note." She read it, it fell from
her hands : and pale and tr£mbiing she sat
down on her chair.

202 HERMAN

The servant then related, that in the
morning she had found the parchment nail-
ed to the door that led to Ida's apartment:
at first she paid no attention to it, because
she could not read; but the people, who
were assembled in crowds, informed her of
its contents, and ordered her, with threats,
to carry it to the person to whom it was
addressed.

Ida listened to her tale, half dead with
fear, and scarcely knowing what she heard.
Had she been more collected she would
have perceived, in the looks of those about
her, an indignation and contempt, which
would have appeared to her extraordinary
from persons by whom she had been inces-
santly flattered.

'' O God! what have I done ? and what
'' am I now to do? ' cried Ida, clasping her
hands, and lifting her eyes to Heaven.

*' What you have done," said her wo-
men, *' is best known to yourself: and as
' ' to what you have now to do k is not for
"us to advise. We must instantly leave
** you, lest the vengeance of Heaven should
** pursue us also.**

OF UNNA- 203

'' And will you too abandon me?'* said
Ida to the young woman who had brought
ber the billet, and who, affected by her
situation, had thrown herself at her feet,
and watered them with her tears.

'' Tell me in what I can serve you, and
"■ I will stay."

'' Run to the princess of Ratibor, and

'' tell her tell her only yet tell

*' her all : describe to her my distressed
*' situation; let her advise me what to do.
*' God only knows what has brought on me
'-'■ this calamity."

The young wom.an went, and soon re-
returned, bringing back for answer, that the
princess knew no such person.

Ill like manner Ida sent to several otH^er
ladies of the court and equally to no pur-
pose. She then recollected the duke of
Bavaria, and the count of Wirtemberg, u'ho
bad always shewn a regard for her. To
them she sent also, and received for answer,
that she must have recourse to God, if her
conscience were pure; as to advice, they
xould give her none, except that of not
K

£04 HERMAKI '

failing to appear in compliance with the ci-
tation, as, at any rate, her life was at stake.

" Appear!" said Ida: where must I ap-
^' frear? Did you ask where the secret tribu-
'^ nal is held r"

The girl was silent.

'' My life too at stake!" exclaimed the
unfortunate Ida, after a long and gloomy
silence. ''Heavens! what have I done?
Am I hot innocent r" "^^

■' *' God Send you may be :'* answered her
Avdmau, sobbing.

'"• " Yes, I call Heaven to witness that I
^^am. I swear it by him who lives for ever.?
^^'^aving remainedcome time on her knees,
covering her face "with her hantis, and seem-
ingly in prayer, she at length arose, and xonr-
tinued thus:^ — "What said the count *bf
i^ Wirtemberg? Was it not that I must seek
^consolation from God ?" Be it so. '* Gk)d
** has alrea-dy comforted me; he will con^- I
^*'fort me still more by the mouth of his
'***^ ministers. Give me my hood : I will go
^** to churdi, and confess myself. The r^-
" verend father John will tell me whatto dcr**

Of UNNA. 205

*^ Oh ! do not run such a risk: the peo-
^' pie are excited against you, and may do
i'^you some mischief."
-iiui.': Give me my hood : I may risk every
-*' thing, for what have I to lose?"

'' No doubt it will be useless for me to
§{i attend you."
vffic'-.Po as you please."
f 5; Ida set off, without once looking round
lier. She mufHed herself up as much a?
,possible iji her hood, that she might not be
known. At every corner she heard her
name coupled with execrations. The
people seemed better informed than herself
^^f whaj she was accused. The appellatjons
9|c wretch, criminal, sorceress, passed frpi^
;?^OUth to mouth without further explanation,
-at last -she gathered from some few expres-
sions that dropped from a company walking
before her, that the crime ^wlth which she
:W3s charged was committed against her d^ar-
^est friend, h^r adored Sophia* More than
once she was near sinking to the earth, her
legs failed her, ,angl..|i)^,^\v|ij gbliged to lean
against the walt^^i !;'wiK'oT -^ r^;;

206' HERMAN'

When she arrived at the'^ctiurcli',' where
slie sought counsel and consolation from' ihe
only friend she had left, (her confessor,) night
was advancing. Silently she passed along
the gloomy cloisters of the hallowed fane,
and placed herself in an obscure corner, to
wait for father John. Whether this father
John was the famous confessor of the empress,
St. John Nepomucenes, whose nam^ is still
so celebrated for his discretion, our memoirs
do not inform us: St. Nepomucenes himself
however, could not have given more striking
proofs of his love of taciturnity, than did
our father John, when this afflicted sinner,
or saint let us rather call her, laid open to his
view the inmost recesses of her heart. '

She concealed nothing. from him'; she

wept, she sighed, she asked his counsel--^

and still he was silent. She urgently im-
plored him to bestow on her one word, one
simple word of consolation. After a'^ong
pause, he ventured to say: '■' Gb^ clear
v yourself from the crime of which you are
*' accused, and then 1 will grant you abso-
*^ lution.

OF gNNA. 207

. *' Bat what must I do? I am cited to
*Vth.e bar of justice by I know not whom ; I
>' am to make my appearance I know not
*V where."

a

w

'^'^ And Avbo will be my judges?"
*' Those terrible unknown mortals, who
*"' render justice in secret."
. '^ \Vher-e do they assemble?"

** Every where, and no where.'*
^^ Id^?^, bathed in tears, ceased to question
this flinty-hearted priest,- and he rose to go
away.

_ '* Have pity on me! have pity on me!**

cried, sjhe, holding him by his gown; '' it is

*" now night : grant me an asylum till the

*' morning in this convent, or give me at

_*Meast a^i^y^v^^^o^^'^^^t me home in

'' The -Iholy, sisters who dwell here will
^^Y; not receive yoUy^ nor will any one accom-
'* pany you."

Ida covered her face with her hood, and
,.\vept afresh. A moment after she looked
TOund,^nd found herself alone. The great
K 3

203 HERMAN

lamp . suspfeiTded frorn the center of the
diuixli "shed a feeble "Irgtrt,' Rising, she
walked with trembling steps, through the
windings of the sacred vaults, and by the
least frequented streets of the cily, till she
arrived at her own habitation. She no longer
wept; a kind of torpid insensibility had seiz-
ed her faculties. She called to her servant
to bring a light; no one answered. She en-
tered the anti-chamber, and the apartments
pfjier women : they were empty.— '*\ I am
*' totally abandoned, thenv' said she, as she
entered her own chamber. " Heavens!
,*Vbow have I deserved this fate? Is there
JJjnQ difference between accusation and con-
*^ -vic^iprit "A^ X > ii) ;r^iiitj^; rguilty |;;[ti^^
** say, that it is possible to sin without know-
'^ ing it. Yes, yes, it must be so, and I am.
V. certainly a guilty wretch, since every one
jf* considers me as such, and the holy father
>>. John has refused me absolution."

Ida was in that terrible situation* from
which there is but a step to madness and de-
spair, when she heard an indistinct noise in
the anti-chamber. The door opened and
-some one called her by her name.

OF UNNA. 209

'V Who is. there ? and what is thy errand?"
said she, in a voice more of alarm and hor-
ror, than of anger.

. . , ''.Ida! my poor unhappy Ida!" continu-
ed tHp. stranger, in accents of the most ten-
der affection. • . , t

Ida rose from the floor, on which she
was lying. The figure, which was then
discernible, by means of a lantern it carried^
approached nearer.

^ "• Who art thou? Art thou one of fed^e
^'* terrible and unknown beings, who ren-
'''' der justice in secret?''

'* Do you then no longer knowtnet

** Do you not know your father r" cried the

person who entered; and saying this, he

rendered the light of his lantern more vivid,

Virew dffhi's cloak, and clasped her in his

-'-0 4'l^i^ Wher r my'^'sax^iirl inpr se
^"*'fi-bm Heaven !"; were the words she had
just time to' articulate, before she fainted in

'^^rcrr :»n^f:*^ib^i re hi nod ech nsdw ^ihqt

K 4 .i3cffnjsdQ-jtf^£ 9di

;2n 13d \(a i^bdll^D !5no ^mo^

210 HERMAN

r , ■ _!

.CHAPTER; ^ XyjHi.bluow..

" ' ' ^S'^ethz sensatioiitox-^iiich 'tlil^'fiuman
heart is susceptible stronger or more de-
iightfui than' that which' it Ikpefientes,
when, pkmged in the abyss %f' '(36s jjaff, it
perceives the approach of a friend? But to
enjoy this the mind of Ida was too much
oppressed! she was ready to sink under her
misfortunes. Let us, indeed, consider what
she had suifered in the space of one short
day; and then judge how great mufl have
teen her surprize, to find herself, at the
-moment that she thought the whole world
had abandoned her, clasped iiitlteembtace
of a lather! ^^^^ ^^l^ ^^r^ ^oe .o) dcbi^

'^ Is it possiblerl^fff^M-ai to^ Uhen
she was able to speak: '' Is it possible? or
^^^ am I in a dream ? My father here- and
^ at such a moment!" /^^^^ ^

'^-' "■ Could Ida then think, tHat'lie would
"^*' leave her for an instant in suspicious
^'"^ hands, without watching over her? No,
'*^i"set off fr6th' 'Pragtie^larthi 'skm^tftne

** with yourself: I have followed you every

'^ where: 1 have observed your every step:

^' I would not let you know I was near, that

,'; I ipight judge of your conduct when

[ -^^Vwh.oIl,y left to yourself. In like manner

*' ^L^h^d resolved to accompany you on

'' your return, without giving you the least

. >',' rea-on to suspect it : and I should have ex-

^[*je,cuted my resolve, had you not received

e,'^'4l|i^ijpeKpected stroke. 'V

,./\.3QpGp5ll a stroke .indeed ! a- stroke

jjQthat will cost me my life !"

97c;ff nThat will cost you your life! . . . An

^*-f^jexjqelleii3^:n;iode truly of defending your

iliW^^.^^rf ^flr TfK^NpHl^^ :yoti shall live

^^^to.cove^r with shame your accusers, who

'' wish to see you die as a malefactor I"

V' And who are my accusers?"

; ' ' J have . sought to discover them- from

^^*fUie^mQment X knew that you had been

^' cited before the secret tribunal. The

"- whole day I have been in quest of irifor-

" mation, mixing in the crowds and wan-

'' deringfrom place to plac(e,.tp learA^x^hat

" might be your crime, -What I have been

K5,

212 HERMAN

^^"^"ie id iear^'i^^hat^ when the ladies
'* of the empress ^Were interrogated, -the
" princess of Ratibor found no better means
*^ of proving her innocence, with respect to
'' Sophia's unfortunate labour, than by ac-
'' cusing you. Her deposition was rumour-
*^ed abroad: it was said, that she had
''answered for all the ladies present under
*' the most solemn oath ; but that there was
•'.one absent, who, if appearances could be
^'"^"trufted, was certainly the culprit. The
*' motives of he^ suspicion were asked; but
*'• no one could inform me what they were:
'' j only heard, that you were to be brought
*' to trial, and that the judges testified much
*' surprlseand indignation^ that 3^ou alone,
" of all the ladies of the empress, had not
*' been taken up and interrogated."

Ida listened with looks of anxiety and
distress, but made no reply. Munster con-
tinued:

'' The history of that letter of protec-

»' tion granted you by the emperor, at the

,_ ''request of my iniprudent wife, was at

"length mentidned with such caraments as

QF/:VNNA. ^13

' '- 5y?u -.may ^ea§ily. ..conceive . The j udges
L s'r- looked at one another! 'Have we need
*' of any better proof?' cried they. * Why
"" seek an extraordinary protection if sl^,e
'' were innocent? Why Vv'ish to prevent h^.r
*■' being brought before the customary tri-
b*r^ bunals, if not conscious of some secret
r^* cTime, that, if known, \vould expose her
H^* to the sword of justice? Ought she, how-
36' ever, on that account, to remain unpu-
di^'.nished?' My information reaches no farr-
, 3rf> ther, and I know not what has been since
t f" determined: but I have been assured,
Ji1§ that tkejudgjes did not separate till mid-
rbbn^gbt;.iaf^r>, having pledged themselves
,^:by an oath to show you no favor."
Joa Ida hid her fece in her father's bosom,,
and wept.r— *' Go on^ go on," said she, sob-
bibiiTgJiv' continue to pierce my heart, with
-n^J:he:i^elatk)n of my dreadful misfortune."
''My ehild, it is necessary that you
-.^'^ should knov/ all.- How otherwise will
^ifi* you be able to defend yourself?"
ii^a. " And vvhyv inn9cent as I aid, niuft 1
2i^*^^defend. myself, at all?, .Why regardless of

£14 HERMAN

^* My i^tter of^pretectionain I 'cited' before
^^-a court of justice? -^ nsjifij

'I.J i n Yq^ 2^g j^Qj. cited before any 'Givrl
'*• court, but before the grand tribunal- of
'' God. And fear you, to appear -before
*' the Almighty?" ^^bsiiq

''Ah, were he to be my judge!" €x-
*' claimed Ida, ftretching her hands to
'' Heaven, with a look that spoke the pu-
'' rity of an angel. '' Were God to be my

T r: ■ t i -j^j^i I ^ j-^g^^ s ub m i t t o your f a te w i t h
"that consoling hope. Those unknowii
*' persons who render justice in his name
•^'wiiibe your judges: they were the only
-'''ones before whom you could be cited.
*' Have you forgotten the words, contained
*' in your letter of protection : ' We grant
'" thee' the prlviledge of not being arrdgnedfot any
*-'• misdemeanQr^ except before our immediate tribunal^
*^ -or-thbje deputed to hold our place in the criminal

''■court;"

*^ Alas! I did not comprehend them:"
replied Ida, who found few motives of cou-
soiatioti in her father's discourse.

1 ''• Doii^^oiintbif^fei) jt^}§t -men vvho hav€
'' taken an oath the moA.§Qlemn to judge
iV with impartia;lit)^5,;wjii not discover your
"''^ iunocence ?;";,;• -M- ^

:^' I wili think ap^y thing you please :'*
replied she, with a faint and dejected voice :
^S but of this I am very sure, that I shall
'' die, if I must appear alone before tliose.
'' terrible judges."

*> Youvsjiall noti I will accompany you."

'* But whither? Where do they hold
h'j their sessions? Father John tells me,
ib/eviQty wher^ ^nd q^, ,whefi^.o. :W:^^%^: 4^^
^Yrhe. mean.?" -:^l*znl '-bc^yi ocfv/ ^no--rs'-: • ■•

'' In reality, no one lias yet seen the

^'^l^lace where they assemble : but as you

Ifrmust appear, no doubt some means will be

Ih found of conducling you to your judges ;

,^.vand to this, purpose I will ernplpy the

' i^tt^D-vd^^js we have, left." i^, ,.:,:>,.

■ ks^iiftVtBut, to whom-vvJH, you address your-

'' self, since you are uninformed who ^re

'' the members of xhis society?" .^ ■. -

_\' ;Qod . k n ows , la m aqquain^ed... witlj
*' none of them : yet thi,§jl, k^^^j.fhat.th'ey.

2115 HEUMAN

*' exist in the midst of us under a thousand
** different forms, without our suspecting
** them: they walk by our sides, eat at our
*' tables, and we are ignorant of it. My en-
** quiry however will reach the ears of some
'' one or other of them, and he rwiUU^
'' struct me what is to be done."

In this manner did they converse, Ida
fitting by her father's side, till morning.
Sometimes an extreme paleness- overspre.ad
her countenance : then her burning cheek
and inflamed eye bespoke the fever with
which she was consumed. The old man
was alarmed for her life. He at length
•prevailed on her to drink a small ^lass of
wine, into which he had secretly intro^-
^u<:ed some narcotic tincture, and she fell
asleep. Having placed her gently on n
couch, he shut the door, and departed before
it was quite day-light, to endeavour to dis-
cover what he so much v/isbed to learn« .

OF unKia. m?

gaUosqsLfs lu

' ' S^0 powerful was the operation of the

ioporific, that Ida passed the whole day in

^leep, and awoke not till her father arrived,

just at the approach of night. He induced

%er to take some nutriment, which he

Brought with him ; and, sleep, having

^Imed her perturbation, her strength ap-

^^r^d somewhat recovered. Finding her

sufficiently calm to hear the result of his

^quiries, he thus began;

ii;2 .It y^^ 2re in a country, wMch is th.e

^ ehlef seat of the secret tribunal. It is

'^^i s6 difficult as I at -first imagined, to

^^^galn information 6'f what moll imports us

'^*'% fenowv Citations of the nature of

^^^yours,'iare ilot extraordinary here: and

'*^instaiices are" not waxitihg of people who

'-' have escaped th'e hands 6f these dreadibl

"• avengers, or been acquitted by them. It

*' is deemed, I am told, a mark of infinite

^' honor, to be proclaimed innocent by

*' them. 1 have heard a strange adventuis

f-l-^of a gentlen)aQ^.p,t ,tj)i5 .-.qou^^^:fy^. of the
''vname of Conrad von Langen*, wna,has
*' hitherto been pursued in vain by the se-
'/ cret tribunal, v^/hich.has not been able to
'' lay hold of hin>.';C.I
.-Hr^*.'* And is it not equally possib],e_fer me
*' to escape ?"

"You cannot, you ought not to attempt
*Vit,. for you are innocent. As to Conrad,
*t l^kpow not whether he be guilty o^ not r
'*;nor does the enquiry concern us. I men-
*^* lion hirn only, because, on hearing his
''.story, it came into my head to endeavour
** to\speak to him, or one of his peoglcj in
* '^ order to learn what we;^re so anxi,oii5 to
^^ knpvv. By unexpected good lucK I found
^* -that his maitre-d'hotei was my ancient
'Vcomrade in the army, the good Walter of
•' whom you harve lieard me speak, \vho
*' at the surprize of B^rnJiad the misfor-
*' tune to lose his hand, and was in con-
*'. sequence obliged to quit the profession of'
v arms. , He has told. me a great many cir—

OF UNNA. 219

^^ cumstaticfes 'df the' secret tribunal, but his
^^'discourse 'was'so obscure, so interlarded
''**'wjt}i broken expressions, and half formed
^'^ sentences, that I know not what to think
'' of him.. There were, he informed me,
•^^persoiis'of Vaflous' descriptions, knights
'' and their esquires, citizens, as well as
'*- nobles, in its service. Perhaps he be-
*^ iongs'to it himself. Be that, however,
*''as it may, he assured me, that its dread-
'f ful sunimoners were commonly "bbliged
'^* to'tesoft to force to bring before them
^' tlie persons who were accused; that it was
*-' rare for a culprit to appear on the first
f^'citatici^; that they who waited for a se-
•*<;ond, or a tfiird, were apprehended
"wherever they were found; but that those
'^'who appeared at the B.Tst\ as you, my
^'dear Ida, will do, had'the advantage of
^•^ inspiring' a ' presutrfpticn^ of- their inno-
*^8e'ncy, 'and were treated with greater' le-
*''nity.' And finally, that the onIy'\^'ay of
^^ discovering where the secret tribunal as-
' ' sembled^ was-to repair, ..tiuee^q^uarters of
'' an hour after midnight, to that part of

220 HERMAN

'' the town where four streets meet-^ and
*''• where was always to be found a person
'' who would lead the accused blind-folded
''before the judges.*'

'' I thanked him for his inforn->Rtion,
"- and told him that you w^ould carefully oh- *
'' serve his directions, and that Iv/as deter-
" termined to accompany you. Walter,
"- upon this, looked me stedfastly in the face,
*"' and asked if I were one of them, Ndt
''knowing what was his drift, I made no
" answer. He looked at me again with still
'• greater earnestness, uttering some inc€^
" herent words which I did not understan^^
" Stilll was silent. ' WeU,' resumed he^
" aft^i* a moment's pause, ' we shall see
" whether you will be permitted to accom^
" pany her. At any rate, however, you
** may becertain she will arrive in safety at
^*' the place of destination ;: the ceft depends
" on h^r innocence."

■ Whence could proceed the sort of tran-
quility, which this mysterious tale of Mun-
ster imparted to Ida? for certain it is that
sb§ felt-relieved from the load that oppres-

OF UNNAv 221

sed her, spoke of her situation with com-
posure, formed arrangements respecting,
the manner in which she should conduct
herself, and sought to penetrate the ob^
seurity in which she was involved. It
seemed no longer impossible to her to sup*
port her misfortune, to face her accusers,
and yet survive the shock.

Was it that Ida really discovered rea-
sons for hope in what she had heard? Or
was it with her, as with a multitude of
others, who sink at the first gust of an ap-
proaching storm, but gradually lift up their
heads, as the object of their terror becomes
familiar. to them?; Or was it, lallly, that
there are benevolent Gtmi ever ready to
admlruster to their favourites, when their
sufferings become too poignant, and m.ingle
in the cup of bitterness some drops of h-ea-
ven I y consolation?

Whatever were the cause,, Ida suddenly
became tranquil ; she enjoyed during the
night the peaceful slumbers cf innocence,
while her father sat watching by her pillow,
and for the two following days sli« remain-
ed in the same happy slate.

At Iength-^ht^<*»gfit^ ' lately- M- vk\^
tJreaded, approaclied, but brought Wit^^-^U '
no other terrors, than what a Irght supf)er-^
which the old man had provided, assisted
by^a glass of wine, were sufficient to dispel.
Could their enemies hav€- wit'i'^sse^'^the
serenity of these two victims of so cruel a
fate, it would have inspired them with sen-
sations of envy : their conversation was^
even gay.

• '-'^inie passed on. The clock -Bti^ick
twelve, and they scarcely seemed to notice
it.- *' V/hen the moon- is over yon fteeple,
>*^it will be time for us to be gone," said
Munster, looking out of the window. Their
conversation, however, presently slackened,
and at lengch ceased. The fears of Ida be-
gan to return. — '* Mow my heart beats!"
said she, laying her hand on her bosora^
^Slre walked up and down the rooijr with
-agitatio-n. — ^"Where," said she, *''js -the

*' moon now?"- '' It is , . . Take yoiiT

*' hood, my child, and let us depart." —
" Yet one moment," she replied : and fall-
Hig on her knees she sighed a short prayer,.

OFlUN'NA. 223

•^hik Munster re-eGhoed her sighs. She
then put on her hood and they hurried out
of the house.

._ . Silently they walked through the streets
itirwhich not a person.^as^tp be seen. The
k^es of Ida trembled with cold, while her
cheeks Vv^ere flushed with the crimson of
fever. They arrived at the great fteeple of
St. Bartholomew's, where met four large
streets leading to the extremities of the city.
:^0i Behold, my father, the designated place!"
^?^id Ida, with a faultering voice. The
.m^oon shone on the spot, while a deep shadow
ilJ3^il«- gloom over the distant avenues.
rN^ar them, in one of the ftreets, they saw
,^,^man approaching, with slow and solemn
.steps, whom the dim light of the moon, and

the terrors of Ida transformed into a giant.

„H§-^Ws wrapt in a km<iroi, m^iil^ so as that

ikh/^^^i^^\^ were visible. He- aceostecl

them;— r-Who are vour" said he. — ^V .Ida

Munstiprand her father." ,. .^ -

:*f Jt is .-the former I seek*. The .other
.r^jmay; withdraw." . . • ,:

:224 HERMAN-

'' No, I will not withdraw.: .I^Awili follow
" her wherever she goes." isi:!^!/^-: ::.:j\

'' You will follow her? that depends on
'■' the manner in which you shall answer the
" following questions. What are the names
*' of these four streets? That which is ^eri-
'* lightened by the moon I myself calibre;
*^ that in the shade zVotz*. What are the
other two?"

To this unintelligible question Munster
made no reply.

'' Begone," said the man in the mask :
*' thou dost not belong to us."

'' Must I then quit you, my father;
*^ must I quit you? exclaimed Ida, sobbing.

The stranger tore her from the arms of
Munster and pushing him away, somewhat
Tudely '■'• Go," said he in a tone of voice
too gentle to assort with the action that

* The ufual words by which the members of the
fecret tribunal recognized each other were steil, jfeiTif gras,
grein : in English, steeps stonzy grass, groan. It is said
iwwever, that, on various occasions, other words were em-
ployed. St. Pfeffin^er, Vol. IV. p. 400, asserts that the
irst word should hejtock, .(in English sted,) not stal.

accompanied it: *' you may safely trust
*' your daughter to my care."

"• Whose is that voice?" said Munster
to liimself as he seated himself under the
portico of the church » '' It is surely fa-
*' miliar to me," Meanwhile Ida was led
off by her conductor, who turned once
iGore towards Munster, made a signal to him
not to followj and was soon out of fight.

226 HERMAN

4:HAPTER XX.

COURTEOUS reader, thou wishest, no
doubt, to accompany this innocent maiden
before her judges : but would it be safe for
me to introduce thee to a place which no
profane eye has yet explored? Rather let
us sit down with honest Munster in the
porch of St. Bartholomew's. Look; the
moon has disappeared, the dawn begins to
peep, we shall soon hear news of the object
of our anxiety.

Munster was as firmly persuaded as you
and I can be, that she whom he called his
daughter was innocent. Walter had assur-
ed him, the preceding day, that if she were
found guilty he would never see her more,
as these avengers of God caused the sen-
tences they pronounced to be executed on
the spot : but he had added, that if there
were the least prospect of her justifying her-
self, she would be safely brought back to
him in the morning, by the persons into

OF UNNA. 227

whose hands he shonld commit her at night
at the junction of the four streets.

Firmly relying on the innocence of Ida,
the veracity of Walter, and the justice of
the secret tribunal, he waited with tranquil-
lity, and he waited not in vain; for, ere the
inhabitants of the neighbouring houses were
awake, his daughter was in his arms.

" Thou art restored to me, then!" cried
Munster : '' thou art restored to m^e! thou
*' art innocent !"

" I am indeed innocent ; I swear it by
^' that God, who is my supreme judge;
*' though no one will as yet declare me so.
'^ — Alas ! your poor Ida is restored to you
" but for a short time. The avenging
*' sv^^ord, still suspended over her head,
'* hangs but by a thread. It is required
*' that I should justify myself; and how
" shall I be able to do this, since there is
^* every appearance against me? Oh! my
', father! "

Her sobs prevented her saying more ;
and leaning on the arm of Munster they
silently walked towards their home. Ar-
Vol. I. L

228 HERMAN

rived there she sat down breathless, and
resting her head on her hand, wiped her
tears as they flowed under her hood.

'' Tell me, my dear child, what has
'^ passed; conceal nothing from me."

"' Alas! I have not long to remain with
'' you. As a particular favour I am per-
*' mitted to take up my residence with the
'* Uisulines, for a short time, till my affair
^' is finished and I am again summoned be-
*' fore my judges. Do not grieve, my dear
"''father, you may see me there, I have
'* asked leave to receive your visits/'

Munster pressed her hand wdth tlie
earnestness of anxious affection, and again
conjured her to relate her story.

*' How shall I describe to you what I
*' felt, Vv4ien torn from your arms by my
" conductor? I thought I should have expir-
'Ved : yet a certain something, that I can-
" not describe, presently inspired me with
" confidence. You must yourself have
'' perceived, that the man in the mask treat-
'^ ed me neither with cruelty or even
*' harshness; his voice was gentle,: by the

OP UNNA. 229

"^ light of the moon I discovered a tear
'' starting from his eye: and I perceived, a
^* circumstance on which I could not avoid
"■ reflecting, that he had lost his left hand,
'' Is it possible, that he could be your
** friend, the good, the honest Walter 'f'

'' It was, it was," exclaimed the old man :
*■• it certainly was Walter, for I now recol-
^' lect the sound of his voiced

Ida continued: '' That discovery

"calmed my agitation. I found myself
*' not delivered entirely into unknown
'' hands, and you have always spoken to
'' me so highly of Walter, that with him. I
^' considered myself safe. After having
" walked on for some time, he suddenly
" threw over my head a thick veil, which
'' so completely covered my face, that it
'•'' was impossible for me to discern the road
'*' we took. One while we passed over
'•' what appeared to me uncultivated ground
^' and then again over ruins : we ascended,
^' and descended : sometimes I fancied my-
*-* self breathing the air of the fields; at
*' others the sound of our footsteps appear-

L 2

230 HERMAN

^ ed to be echoed back by surrounding
' vaults. At length we descended thirty
' steps, which I counted, I know not why ;
' and my veil being taken off, I found my-
' self in a dark dreary place, where at first
' I could distinguish nothing. Finding
' myself extremely fatigued, my conductor
' permitted me to sit down on a stone.—
' By degrees my eyes became' familiarised
' to the obscurity of the place, and I found
'myself at the entrance of a large square.
' Whether I were in the country, or not,
^ I cannot say : but all around me, as far as
' my view could penetrate, I beheld lofty
' vaults ; and over my head the starry sky.
' At a distance I observed by the light of
' torches, which, though there were many,
' but feebly illumined the vast space, serv-
' ing scarcely more than to render d^rkne.'s
' visible, human figures dressed in black,
' some of v»'hom came towards us and join-
* ed my conductor. They were all mask-
' ed like him, and conversed only by signs,
^intermingled v/ith a few abrupt words.
' Every moment their number increased ;

OF UNNA. 231

*' and apparently there were several hun-
'^ dred of them. The silence that pre-
*' vailed in this assembly, interrupted only
'- by my tears and sighs, appeared incom-
*•" prehensible to me.

'^ On a sudden I heard the doleful
'^ sound of a bell. Three times was it
*' struck; and as often did my heart quake
*' within m.e. The place was now more
'*• enlightened, and I perceived a circle
'' composed of several persons in black, and
'' masked, who, I was informed by my con-
*' ductor, were my judges. — ' You will im-
'' mediately be called upon:' said he to me
^* in a whisper: ' if your conscience be clear
'' prepare to answer with courage. Take
'' off your hood, you must appear with your
*' face uncovered.'

'' Scarcely had he done speaking, when
*' a voice more appalling than the sound of
*' the bell, cried out in a tone of authority :

'' Ida Minister \ sorceress I accused of murder^
'' of high treason, appear I We, the secret avengers
*' of the Invinsihle, cite thee before the justice of
** God I appear \ appear \

L3

232 HERMAN

"- Though these terrible expressions
*' were not new to me, I cannot express the
*' oppression I felt at my heart on their
** being pronounced. It continued indeed
*' but for a moment; for the consciousness
*' of my innocence inspired me with cou-
'* rage almost supernatural. V/ith counte-
" nance erect I stepped forward, and bold-
'' ly looked round on the whole assembly,
** without testifying the least fear. — ' To
'' such a citation I ought not to answer;*
*''■ cried I with a voice strengthened by
*' indignation. ' My name is Ida Munster,
'^ but I am no criminal/

'^ At this, he who appeared to be tlie
'-'• chief of the tribunal, said: — ' Come near
'-'• and listen to the complaints that are ad-
*' duced against you, and the witnesses who
'' attest their truth/

" I advanced, and falling on my knees,
'^ ' I swear' cried I, ' by him who lives for
" ever, that I am not a sorceress, that I
'' have assassinated no one, that I have ne-
'' ver committed the crime of high treason,
*' and that all which the witnesses have de--
'* posed against me is false/

OF UNNA. 233

^^ The examination began : but, O my
*' father! how shall I relate to you the sub-
*' stance of my accusation! Is it possible,
** that the merest trifles can be construed
** into crimes, or regarded at least as a pre-
*"' sumption of crimes?

'' The first thing adduced against me,
*^ was the lock of the empress's hair. Alas!
'* I was obliged to give it up, and the braid
** of gold net- work to which it was fastened,
** is now a useless ornament about my neck.
*^ That precious reniembrance which I wore
*'' in my bosom, became one of the strongest
** proofs against me. — You remember, that
'' yesterday in the dark, I scratched my
*' cheek, and spotted my veil with blood:
** my judges presumed, that it was the same
'• veil with which I had wiped the blood
** from the neck of the empress on her wed-
'' ding day, when she gave herself the slight
'* wound you have heard me mention, and
'' I was a^ked for what purpose I carried
'* such things about me. They asked, too,
*' whether I had not said to one of my
*' friends, that the empress would be forced
L 4

23^ HERMAN

*' to love me, as long as that lock of her
*' hair remained next my heart: and ac-
** cused me of having so fascinated her,
" that she could not be happy without me
" and my harp for a single day; as a proof
*' of v/hich they alledged, that lately, dur-
*' ing her illness, she had confessed it was
*' impossible for her to live, or even to die
*' without me,

'' ' Did she say so?' cried I, with rap-
*■'• ture. ' Matchless woman! why cannot
*' I see her once more? Why, if I must
'' die, cannot I die at her feet?' .... Si-
*^ lence was imposed on me, and the inter-
** roGfation^ continued.

o

^•^ I was asked, v;hence came the riches
*' of my father and mother, after they had
*' lost by fire, all they possessed ; by what
** supernatural means I had been warned
" that the conflagration would happen :
*' why I had not the humanity to acquaint
*' the people of the city, and my parents
*'- with the circumstance, but had carried
** my wickedness so far, as to abandon them
*' to their fate, and save only m.yself; and

OF UNNA. 235

'^ what was become of the chevalier Her-
'' man of Unna, on whom I had cast a spell,
'' to make him in love with me, whom I
*' had so deprived of the use of his reason,
*' that he had wandered about the country
'* for three days together, withomt knowing
'* what he did, and whom in all probability
'' I had afterwards caused to be assassinated.

*•' At the mention of Herman assassinat-
•' ed, I fell senseless on the ground. After
'' they had brought me to myself, I began
''• loudly to lament his death. • O heavens!
'* if it should be true, that he is dead !"

Tears now choaked the voice of Ida,
and she*ceased not to weep, till Munster
soothed her by the -assurance, that he had
lately received a letter from Herman, and
that he was well. She then continued her
narration o -

'' The complaints exhibited against me^
^' became every moment more affiidling.
*' The Italian prince, who had abandoned
'' the princess of Ratibor, and whom of
'^ course I had also enchanted by some se-
'' cret spell, was not forgotten j but the last

L5

236 - HERMAN

*' and most cruel reproach was, the uafor-
*' tunate labour of the empress, which was
'* in like manner imputed to me, ^ well
*' as the dangerous state in which she yet
*' continues.

'' God knows what answer I made ta
" these different accusatians. This only I
*' remember, that I, who fancied myself so
'' weak, so timid^ felt myself animated with
** supernatural strength, and was silent to
** none of the charges. I spoke little and with
*' reserve; but what I said must have been
*' of weight, for more than once, I put my
*' accusers to silence. The sky now began
'* to grow less obscure,, the distant crowing^
'^ of the cocks announced the approach of
*' dawn ; when instantly all the assembly
'* arose.

" He who had presided, then addressed
** me in these words : ' Ida, the sword still
*' hangs over your head: one and twenty
*^ days are granted you to produce incon-
^' testible proofs of your innocence. Your
^^ jeadiness to appear at the first citation.

OF UNNA. 237

** induces us for the present to permit you
" to depart in peace ; but think not of
*' taking flight, our eyes and arms are every
*' where, like the presence of the Eternal.'

'' I prostrated myself at the foot of the
*' judgment seat, and solicited permission to
"• retire to a convent. My request was
'' granted, and I was moreover promised,-
'' in consideration of my youth and sex,
*' some extraordinary favor; but what that
*' favour was, I was not informed.

^' Again I was veiled, and then led away.
*' On the road, I begged my conductor to
'' use his interest for me to be placed in the-
'' convent of Ursulines, whither I had been
'* accustomed to go, and to obtain permis-
'* sion to see you there. This he assured
^^ me he could grant on his own authority,
'' such things being left entirely to him. I
*' would have said more to him, but he
'^ assumed the same reserve as when he con-
" ducted me to the tribunal. At the corner
"■ of the street he left me, probably that he
*^ might not be known by you, whom. he

238 HERMAN

" pointed out waiting for me at the church
'' of St. Bartholomew."

" My dear Ida," cried Munster, when
she had finished her recital: " be of good
*' heart. I am persuaded your affair will
*' terminate happily. I shall this day take
*' a step, which the absence of the person on
*' whom I found my hopes, has hitherto
" prevented. The day on which you were
*' cited, and before I saw you, I went to the
" count of Wirtembergs, to acquaint him
*' with something of the utmost importance,
'^ and which would have been of great help
'' to you, had he known it. I was told,
'^ however, that he was gone from home,
*' and would not return for three days.
*' Those three days are expired, and I will
*' go to him the moment I have conducted
*' you to your convent."

'' Alas! it will be lost labour. I ad-
*' dressed myself to him, the instant 1 was
•^ summoned before the secret tribunal, as
*' he had always appeared well disposed to-
*'' ward me ; but he too abandoned me.
** Besides, it is probable he was not from

OF UNNA. 239

*' home, but refused to admit ycu, because,
** knowing you to be my father, he was ap-
*' prehenfive you might wish to sohcit him
*•' in my behalf."

'' He has always, you say, appeared well-
'•'- disposed towards you," replied Munster^
after a short silence: ^^ what proofs has he
'^ given you of it?"

*' You know, my dear father, we are
*' naturally led to confider the slightest
*' marks of attention from the great, as a
*' proof of their being interested in our
*^ favour. And at the tim.e that every thing
*' smiled around me, he seemed to regard
*' me, I thought, with kindness. I remem-
*' ber particularly the moment of his first
'' seeing me in the empress's closet. He
'^ distinguished me from all my compa-
'' nions, and paid me attentions that were
" extremely em.barrassing to me: and when
'* the empress, as was her custom, told him
*' my name, that dear nam.e which I shall
"■ ever deem an honour to me, in order to
*' let him know, that I was not of noble
*' birth, his attention to me was increased*

240 HERMAN

*' 'Mimiter!' replied he: ' Ida Mun^

** ster ! .... The name of Ida is pleasing

*''• to my ear : it brings to my remembrance-

" a beloved wife, whom, alas! I long have

*' lost.' The princess of Ratibor remarked,

*' that it was a proof of the pride of my-

'' parents togive m^ the name of a princess.

*' But the count did not appear to heed the

'' reflection: he came up to m_e, embraced

*' me affectionately, and said with a smiles

*' ' I am happy to learn that you are a ci-

*' tizen's daughter, for had you been a Jady-

*' of quality, I durst not so freely express-

** the friendship with which you inspire-

''me.' The princess of Ratibor, who was

'^ by my side, eyed me with a look of con-

*' tempt, and her eyes seemed to say, that

'' the last observation of the count, was

'* humiliating to her to whom it was addres-

'' sed ; but too simple, too little vain, to be

•* of her opinion, I kissed the hand of the

*' respedable old peer, and received frora

'' him in return, not without blushing, a^

*' salute on my forehead. From that mo-

^* ment, he always asked for me, called me'

OF UNNA. 241

*' his Ida, Inquired after my parents, and
'' told me, that he had formerly a person
*' of the name of Minister in his service, a^
'' very brave and worthy man, with many
*' other things equally flattering, which
'' people of humble birth so highly prize
" from the great. For a time I thought
'' that I had found in him a protector : but
'' now, that I have enemies seeking to op-
'* press me, I have discovered my mistake.'*
To this Munster made no reply : nor in-
deed had he time, for scarcely had she
finished, when somebody entered to con-
duct her to the convent. They accordingly
separated, after tenderly taking leave, and
promising shortly to see each other again.

242 HERMAN

CHAPTER XXL

THE next day Munster made his ap-
pearance at the parlour of the Ursulines. —
*' I have strange things to tell you/' said he
to Ida: " read this paper; a great number
'* of copies of it are stuck up against all the
^' public buildings." Ida read :

'*'• Wt\ the secret judges of crimes^ and protec-
'-' tors of innocence^ turn to the four quarters of the
" globe ^ and proclaim : If any one dare undertake
' ^ ths defence of Ida Munster^ who is in a state cf
*' accusation^ let him appear V'

'' Oil God!" cried Ida, lifting the paper
towards heaven, '' I feel that thou hast not
'* wholly forsaken me ; that thou wilt yet
^' save me!"

Munster continued : '' I went to my
•' friend Walter, and shewed him this pa-
^* per. He smiled, and assured me, that
'' such a proclamation was an extraordinary
'^ favour of which you might be proud, as
*' there was scarcely another instance of a -
'' defender being allowed to a person accus-

OF UNNA. 243

'-^ ed of witchcraft, still less that all the
" world should be called upon to plead his
'^ cause. I told him the resolution I had
" taken, to appear myself in defence of your
" innocence. He shook his head, and
" added: ' If you weie a member of the se-
" cret tribunal, and could say : ' I swear by
'' our dreadful oath, that ray daughter is in-
'' no cent;* it would be of weight, and
*' equivalent to a complete justification : but
"• without this, your oath would be reckoned
'' as nothing. Neither father, nor mother,
'' nor brother, nor any other relation, if not
'•'- of the society, can be admitted to defend
'' a person accused before the secret tribu-
" nal. In the few instances in wiiich this
*' liberty is allowed to the profane, it muist
'' be a stranger who takes upon him tlie task ;"
" and then, in order that there may be time
'' for such an one to appear, an interval of
'■'• one and twenty days is appointed, be-
" tween the first and second meeting of the
'' tribunal.'

'-'• ' You astonish me :* replied I, ' you
" speak of the affair as if you had been pre-

244 HERMAN

' sent. Am I right? Are you really I' — '^
' Walter interrupted me, with an air of dis-
' satisfaction, without answering my ques-
'tion; but desired me to leave him, and
' never to visit him 3gain, if I would not
^ desist from such interrogations,

'* On quitting him, I repaired to the
' house of count Wirtemberg. There, what
' you predicted, came to pass . I was refus-
' ed admittance: yet see him I mast. To
' effect this, an expedient lias occurred to

* me, by means of which I have no doubt

* of obtaining access to him. You know
"* the gold chain I gave you, when you en-
^ tered the tenth year of your age : if I
*" could convey that chain to the count of
' Wirtemberg, and recall to his memory

* certain circumstances, I should not be sent
^' from his door. Give it me, it is at pre-
' sent of no u^e to you. It shall be return-
' ed to you in a manner more flattering

' than you can imagine You seem

^ confused! ha^'e you lost it my child? Was

* it destroyed in the fire? .... B:tt no ;
' your mother told me, when I mentioned
' it, that it was saved, and that you had it

OF UNNA. 245

" on v/hen you went to the church. . . Speak
'' Ida? what am I to think? . . . Beheve me,
*' the loss of it would be of more conse-
'' quence than you are aware."

''Oh! my father!" exclaimed Ida, agi-
tated : '' I . . . . My motl^er .... Indeed
*' I have it not .... I gave it to Herman,
'' when . . . ."

''Imprudent girl! You have been tlie
" instrument of destroying your own l^iap-

" piness And my wife ! . . . . How

" could she permit it? Herman then is in
" possession of that jewel! Oh! where shall
'^^ I find him ! How shall I recover it from him !
'' It might at this juncture save yonr life.*'

Munster gave way to h's despair, while
Ida endeavoured in vain to appease him,
and implored his forgiveness. She offered
him a ring, which she had received at tiie
same time with the chain; but he refused it,
saying., that vv^ithout the one, the otl^er was
useless. Ida, bathed in tears, begged him to
explain to her this mysterious affair. He
tore himself from her arms, and for th^ finst
time in his life, quitted h^r with every mark
pf displeasure.

246 HERMAN

As it was impossible for Ida to conceive
tlie importance of such a trifle, she soon
thought no more of it, and regretted nothing
but having incurred the anger of her father,
v/hich she hoped at his next visit to remove.
She well knew how much he loved her, and
th.e power her prayers and tears had over
him. In vain, however, did she that day
expect him ; in vain the two succeeding
ones. She thie.i became impatient, and ob-
tained permission from the superior of the
convent, who was her friend, to send to the
house at which he hadtalcen up his abode, and
inquire after him. His apartment was shut,
and no one could give any information re-
specting him. She sent to Walter : his answer
Vv^as, that the last timeiMunster called on him,
he had dismissed him a little uncivilly, at
which he was probably offended, as he Irad
not seen him since.

What alarming news for Ida! And
surely she needed no fresh subjects of in-
quietude! Of the three weeks respite which
she had obtained, four days were now spent,
and the rest passed away in like manner, in

OF UNNA. 247

■the midst of apprehension and dread, till
the last only remained, and in this single
day was she to procure, what in all the others
she had been unable to find, incontestible
proofs of her innocence, or undergo the sad
alternative of being irremediably con-
demned to death. Jndge of the dreadful
situation of this poor girl! It seemed as if
every thing from Vv'hich she might hope for
comfort was annihilated for ever. She had
heard, that the empress was recovering her
health: she would fain have persuaded her-
self, that she knew nothing of her misfor-
tune, or knew it but imperfectly : she hop-
€d, that, if she could acquaint her with her
story, she should receive from her all the
succour she wanted. But every attempt
made by the nuns to obtain access to Sophia
proved ineffectual. At length, Vv'hen the
last evening came, Ida was obliged to con-
fess, that she had nothing to rely on but her
innocence; and she was even at a loss in
what way she should present herself before
her judges. Not to appear v/ould have been
to .act contrary to her principles, and inju-

248 HERMAN

rious to her honour : to repair unaccompa-
nied to the destined spot would have been
dangerous, and little compatible with fe-
male modesty. V/hat then was to be done?
A council was held on the occasion, and the
worthy superior of the convent permitted
Ida to send for old Walter, and request him
to act, on this occasion, as a father to the
-daughter of his friend.

The old man appeared greatly disturbed
at this proposal. His colour changed, he
would have spoken, he stammered, and at
length, striking the ground with his foot,
with marks of considerable displeasure, beg-
ged that they would not teaz€ him for an
impossibility. With this he departed,
and left Ida, as well as the nuns, in the
greatest consternation.

They wept, they prayed, and midnight
was fast approaching. Ida was left alone,
while the rest of the community retired to
the superior's apartment, in order to come
to some determination. *' It is impossi-
*' ble," said the good old lady : '' to aban-
*' don tlrispooj girl in her present circum-

OF UNXA. 249

*^ stances. I would swear by this image of
** the blessed Virgin, that she is innocent,
*' and will be found so. And shall we be
'^ so cruel as to leave her exposed to dangers
*' of anorher kind ? She is handsome, as
'' you and I were in our youth. If the
'' world be still as it was in my time, she is
*' unsafe, however short may be the way:
*' she will fall into the hands of some young
'' libertine, and will be totally lost to our
'' convent. What is to be done, sisters?
*' Do you think it would be any violation
*' of our holy rules to conduct her ourselves
"to the place appointed? I and the four
''elder nuns will take on ourselves the
'^charge, and ....."

It was impossible for the superior to
finish, a general acclamation interrupted her
in the midst of her speech. The attach-
ment these nuns had conceived for the
lovely Ida, whom they considered, I know
not why, as one of their future sisters ; or
perhaps the desire of once more setting a
foot cut of the convent, made them dispute
the preference which the superior wished

250 HERMAN

on this occasion to give to age: and, tb pre-
serve peace, she v^f^s obliged to let all the
staid matrons, who formed the council,
Vvithout a single exception, accompany her.
Instantly a general joy took place, and a de-
putation was sent to Ida, to inform her of
the resolution taken by the community.

This mark of friendship transported Ida,
and inspired her with so lively a gratitude,
that her lips seemed ready to pronounce a
vow which, the .nuns would have heard with
pleasure. Indeed they fully reckoned upon
it, and thought, that nothing but some un-
foreseen accident could prevent it.

, The clock struck twelve; the church of
St. Bartholomew's was at a distance ; there
was no time to be lost; it was even neces-
sary to forego the solemn benediction, that
had been proposed to be received in the
chapel of the convent, before embarking on
this important enterprize; a benediction
fortunately foregone, as it might have led
the pious Ida into some indiscreet promise
of which she might have repented. In
ha^te they took their veils : in hade they

'OF UN N A. 251

inspected the cells of the younger nuns, that
none of them might take it into their heads
to trench on the privileges of their seniors:
they traversed the long galleries of the con-
vent: the gate was opened, and with pal-
pitating hearts they launched from the con-
fines of those sacred walls into a finful
world.

The heart of Ida equally palpitated.
Guided by the light of the stars, and ac-
companied by those holy maidens, she re-
paired to the spot to which she had before
been conducted by her father. The su-
perior, by whose side fhe walked, dinned
her ears with pious exhortations, and argu-
ments of comfort; but the jGlence observed
by Munster, on her former sorrowful jour-
ney, was much better adapted to her (itua-
tion; and there was nothing she would not
willingly have given at this moment, to
have wept in quiet, and without interrup-
tion.

At length they arrived at the appointed
place. Her masked conductor, who w^a^
already there, was somewhat embarrassed at
Vol. I. M

252 Ht^ilkl^^

sight of her numerous attendantfs; yet^he
presence of the nuns seemed to make on
him a favourable impression. He saluted
them with a profound bow, gave Ida time
to take leave of them, obligingly offered her
his right' ar^rii, and then retired with her
slowly, while the eyes of the nuns followed
them with no small curiosity. When they
arrived at the corner of the street, and her
conductor, as before, covered her head with
a veil, she again perceived, that his left
hand was wanting. '''*^'' Ah I" said Ida :
*''- Why do you wi^h to conceal from me,
*^' that you are Walter ? It would be so con-
** ^olatory to be assured, that I am in the
'' hands of a t)rave and worthy m.an, a^d
'* not in those of a stranger!" A murmur of
dissatisfaction was the sole answer she re-
ceived. They were both silent, and they
a rr i ved mtrtH soonbr ' thaii "befBre --at! ^ =th e
place of their destination.

The spot to which she was this time con-
ducted seemed different from the former.
Its canopy was the same, the starry heavens :
but it did not appear to be encircled with

op IJNNA. 253

ii)fty ,\yal-k,f.,t^.Jthe coAtrary,, ,the €ye was
UDobstvucted on every side^for the little
^\vay^ it could penetrate, except that on
J^,at b^; which they arrived were thick-
^^sh^s^jxjWl^fcb probably . §urrpuaded the
whole place, but were imperceptible.on ac-
,;jS^ount of their distance. Ida perceived, that
J.he ground on which she walked v/as turf;
'.and from various Gircumstances she con-
jectured herself to be in a wood, wifh .yvhich
she was not wholly unacquainted. Possi-
bly she was not mistaken; for there zs no-place^
a? a writer of these times informs us, in
^.^•ck the sessions of the secret tribunal might not be
^:^t{dd^ provided itxjoe^e ■private and Jeciure Jfojn JuT"

jQ . ..!5'his- second assembly was full as numer-
.^^His as the firsts but it was less distinguish-
yajsJei^^a^pd TB^j^jrapf even more silent. The

;^ilp^^l;:§%^§"^^h^ ,^*^^s^^^^^ signal, and the
voice which Ida.,Jj^(d^ .already heard, thus
proclaimed;

'' We, the servants of the invisible God,

.gj* who judge in secret, ,ft»ujyi^ to ^tjie four

M 2 ■ ^ ''"'''

254 HERMAN

V' qukrrers of the globe, and call on the
"-defender of the accused Ida:- appear !
'' appear!*' ab oi jntj^aqinoa b^tn^

This summons w^s' thread tiraes'repeit-
ed. The scene became more. luminous; and
Ida was stepping forward without being
called, when her conductor said to her in a
low voice : '' remain where you are; you
** have today nothing to answer."

Ida then viewed with more tranquillity
these terrible unknown persanages;. a ming-
led sentiment of hope and joy filled her;
heart, and presently was elevated to tran-
sport, when, after the third summons^ a_
figure stepped forward, masked Hfce thes
T)thers, but of so noble a port, that .tlie
young prisoner could not help preferring
him to all the assembly.

The champion of innocence slowly ad^
vanced, and placing himself before the seat
of the chief of the tribunal: 'VBehold,
said he, '* the defender of innocence : put
'' me to death, if Ida be guilty."

The cause was opened. The questions
already put to Ida wer« one by one re-

OF UNN-A. 255

peated; but she heard them not with the
same terror as at first; for the stranger ap-
peared competent to answer them, and she
believed herself perfectly justified. But her
judges were not so easy to be convinced.
The adventure of the lock of hair, which,
in those days of ignorance, appeared so
suspicious a circum.stance, was still unde-
nied; the v/ords she had uttered on the
subject, to the young princess of Ratibor,
were equally, disproved, and testified
strongly against her. The empress beside
was still not wholly recovered, and Herman
of Unna, whom Ida was accused of havinsj
assassinated, it was asserted, was no v/here
to be found.

I The champion of Ida demanded that
tbey should wait the recovery of Sophia,
before they proceeded to pass sentence,
since if the prisoner were guilty, the prin-
cess could give much more direct informa-
tion on the subject, than had hitherto been
offered ; but this demand was rejeded.^ As
to the complaint respecting the murder of
Herman, he offered instantly: td produce

proofs of its falshood. But on this he^^'
silence was imposed on him, and he vvaa
ordered to confine himself to the principal
charge, that of sorcery. Conscious. of the
dilEculty, not to say impossibility of com-
pletely refuting such an accusation, he kept
a melancholy silence, which filled -the mind,
of Munst€r-'s daughter with alarm and
terror.- • . -,

Recovering, himself, however, r be: 7 lai'
length said : '' I am aware of the daiiger-
*' of my situation; I am aware, that no one
*' can engage in the defence of a persoa
^* arraigned before this tribunal, without
.*' exposing himself to the same punishment
** as the culprit, if ^)t -be found guilty..
'^ Be it so! here lam: put m^ to death if
*' there be no safety for Ida : but I call
** Heaven and earth to witness, that she is
*' innocent. Tremble, ye judges! her blood
'' will find avengers : she is not the
"■ daughter of an obscure citizen ; she is
*' the daughter of a prince."

Instantly a murmur pervaded the whole
assembly. The greater part charged him-

OF UNtijM 257

-wirh having invented this fable in order to
protract the trial. In consequence it was
determined, that he should be confined till
he proved his assertion, and he was imme-
diately seized. — " Oh! they will kill, they
'' will murder him!" exclaimed Ida : and,
as she uttered these words, the wdiole as-
sembly appeared to swim before her eyes in
a thick mist, the lights disappeared, her
ears rung with fearful noises, and she sunk
jetiseless on the ground^ ' ■'

idcndaifiriq amsa sn

/Jliljg i^iI?o?F3^?OLi;ME THE FIRST,

6^£^b oj 'dtn :tj;q
- I Uid iM- .

l29gbiJ[^3V

OJ'J^liiitCi J itu

1 ^.!!!ttLim'!^'.y*.iu .Jiiijaii iK9Mfi.»fm ■

^^SmimSmSi^mSiiim*'

a^ S 4

■m '

m^M.

{\ -\v.t; •^

y^.ii'